Dear Desperate Split Ends

I swear there is something about me that attracts weird adventures.

Perhaps I have a metaphorical ‘kick me’ sign on my back, who knows?

My latest adventure resulted in a very wet, somewhat desperate, soapy, towel and flip-flop clad search for someone who spoke English.

An open letter to the woman with the dry, brittle hair …

Dear Desperate Split Ends,

I assume you are desperate to solve your split end crisis because of your need to steal only my conditioner and not my shampoo on Tuesday morning. I realize I went to the gym later than usual, so when my shampoo, conditioner and locker key were sitting on the shower shelf for 73 seconds while I used the washroom, it may have seemed odd to you to see the lonely, forlorn shower supplies on the shower shelf with no one around to use them. 

Or maybe you appreciated the fact that my conditioner is SLS free and won’t cause cancer as you work it into your hair to make your fly aways lose their wings. 

Who knows?

All I know is that when I came back to shower and started to look for my conditioner, confusion set it. ‘It was here just a minute ago. What the world?’ Searching for my conditioner only to find a random bottle of 2 in 1 no name brand shampoo on another shelf made my brow furrow. 

Suddenly panic cut off the air my throat. Not only did you take my conditioner, but my locker key was also gone. 

I understand my conditioner is rather magical, but my locker key? Seriously?

Perhaps you saw me haphazardly sprint to the lockers completely naked with shampoo still in my hair.

Yes, I was the woman who nearly slipped out of her flip-flops while taking the corner into the dry area. Those darned things are slippery when wet!

Much to my relief, you weren’t pilfering through my locker. But more than 73 seconds had passed; at least 139 seconds had ticked by. How much damage could a woman who was driven to steal due to her massive amount of split ends do in 2 minutes?

The possible quandary of being naked without car keys, a phone, my wallet, a pair of very cute Kenneth Cole boots or any clothes at all put my problem solving skills to use. Unfortunately, I found myself stuck in a very circuitous logic problem.

No clothes, no keys, no phone. No clothes, no keys, no phone. 

The locker room was empty except for a few women whose English skills are minimal, to say the least. 

Are you an 83-year-old Japanese woman? I wouldn’t know since my miming skills left much to be desired in the communication department. Even with a towel on and the shampoo rinsed out of my hair, I was unable to get any results except confused looks and giggles out of the five women who started to talk about my wild eyes, arm waving and obvious confusion.

I may not understand Japanese, but shared glances of understanding paired with giggling is not hard to comprehend.

My search for an English speaker nearly led me to walk out to the front desk wearing only my flip flops and an extremely small towel. Do you have any idea how much I hate those towels? I am a tall woman …

Fear of you stealing what might be left in my locker kept me pacing and praying for a woman who spoke English to arrive.

She spoke Japanlish; good enough for me.

Sure, she told the front desk that someone using a walker in the bathroom required help, but it kept me from risking indecent exposure.

When all that is keeping you safe in the world is 8 square feet of well worn terry cloth, you take what help you can get when it arrives.

Thank you for not stealing all of my personal belongings. I appreciate your desperate need to have smoother hair, but next time just ask to borrow some conditioner. Gym women are kind, at least most of us are, you don’t belong in our category of niceness.

My official opinion is that you are horrible, even if your hair is super silky and smooth.

You may be happier with your luscious locks but if I catch you I will definitely give you a firm talking to, grab whatever conditioner is left and possibly kick you in the shins while wearing my shower flip-flops. 

Consider yourself warned.


  • Le sigh. 

I suppose this is what I get for being sloth-like and going to the gym much later than normal.

Karma, it really knows how to bite you in the split ends some days.


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