FORECAST: BEDRAGGLED WITH A CHANCE OF HYSTERICS

BEFORE THE RAIN: SILKY FINE 

Some people are loving the unseasonably warm, rainy spells we are having lately. "Hey, it's better than snow!" they chortle, while I simultaneously fantasize about inserting their face into a puddle of it and saying, "How do ya like it now?"

Because for women with hair like mine, the dry air of a normal winter is our friend. Rain, on the other hand, is the Enemy. It can take a beautifully tamed head of silky, straight hair and turn it into clown frizz within minutes. 
As it did yesterday, when I missed my bus and had to stand out in the dank for half an hour while the humidity molested me like it was Hulk Hogan and my hair was his neighbour's wife.

When I finally got to work, I burst into the office with Medusa hair, soggy clothes and a denuded, rain-washed face. And the entire room fell thuddingly silent.
Finally a co-worker said: "Oh. Your hair . . . "

Which, considering that he could have said "SWEET MOTHER OF CHRIST, IT'S THE BLAIR WITCH!" was really nice of him. So naturally I lit into him like it was all his fault that it was raining and I missed my bus and now I looked more like a madwoman who should be out pushing a doll in a human baby stroller than a respectable office worker.

AFTER THE RAIN: I HATE MY LIFE

"Yeah, well this what I actually look like, f*ckers!" I raged. "That girl with the straight shiny hair and the even skin tone and the six-inch stilettos? She's an illusion! She doesn't exist! At least not without about $200 worth of spackle and a hairstylist!"

After I'd had a chance to calm down and reapply makeup, I felt a lot better. Especially when I saw the forecast: colder with a chance of flurries. Maybe even a blizzard that will shut the entire city down for two days and make your life a cold, living hell.  
What? Pop the corks! Praise the lord! Probability of good hair: 90 per cent!