Hair So Curly
AN: I was inspired by a conversation earlier this week with Rocketlover. It was a hair treatment day for me and my own mass of curls and Rocketlover; being greatly amused by my struggles thought it would be funny to know what Robert would think of Lizzie dealing with her curls. This is inspired by my personal hair routine and some of my husband's comments about it. Actually, his exact words today about my hair routine were, "I like the sausage; I just don't want to know how it's made."
The fiery mass of curls was one of the things Robert adored about Lizzie. Thick and silky in the most luxurious way, he frequently loved to touch them either by nuzzling into her neck when they slept, grabbing handfuls when they made love, or pulling on individual curls and watching them spring back. Not so much the latter anymore. Elizabeth had no patience for having her curls pulled apart for his amusement, and several smacks to his hands later, Robert had learned some restraint. The sharp warning of "don't touch, you'll make them frizz more" and an icy glare had accompanied the smacks, and Robert suspected this could be an issue where her bite was worse than her bark.
As much as Robert loved the mass of curls, he was exceedingly baffled at how they managed to dictate Lizzie's life. When they first started dating, when she needed to wash her hair set the schedule for when she'd stay over at his. Wanting to spend more time with her in the evenings, Robert foolishly suggested that she throw a bottle of shampoo and conditioner into her bag so she could wash it at his every few days.
"Robert, this hair doesn't just happen with just a bottle of shampoo and conditioner. And I wash my hair once a week. It's a hair wash day, not days. The only reason I'd wash it more than that regularly is if it was so unhealthy to get The Chop."
It was like she was speaking a foreign language to him. "Hair wash day? You make a day out of it? And The Chop?"
"Yes, Robert, day. Hair as curly as mine doesn't need more frequent washing if it's healthy. Maybe twice a week, depending on how horrible it looks from being in a scrub cap. And I don't spend a full day on it, not weekly at least. Normally it's just a few hours to wash and style it."
He didn't believe her when she said a few hours. Surely she was exaggerating, teasing him and his lack of hair, and while giving her a pouty look, Robert replied with an "ooookaaay Lizzie" and dropped the subject. Women just liked to waste hot water.
The first time Robert saw her hair wash routine came on a Sunday morning after having stayed over at her flat. They had planned on meeting up with some friends for brunch at 10:30, and Elizabeth had insisted they stay at her place so she could do her hair. It had been late when they got off work, so Robert didn't care where they stayed, as long as there was a glass or two of wine to relax with before bed.
Robert was completely out of it when the alarm went off, and he was confused because it was a Sunday, and that meant no alarms were needed.
"Elizabeth. What. Is. The. Alarm. For. It's evil, and I need my beauty sleep."
"To get up and make coffee."
Looking over at the clock, Robert groaned.
"Lizzie honey, it's seven am. We don't need to make coffee at seven am. We can get up at nine, have coffee, and be ready in time to leave at ten."
"I told you, Robert, I have to wash my hair." She climbed out of bed at that, and Robert rolled over to her side to steal the remaining warmth. The woman was mad, but he didn't have the energy to argue with the redhead before either of them had coffee.
Half an hour later, Robert was still snoozing when Elizabeth peaked back into the bedroom, asking if he was getting up and did he want the bathroom before she got in the shower. A rather grumpy go away was the only response he gave her as he pulled the duvet up over his head, prepared to go back to sleep until a normal hour. The shower was running within fifteen minutes, and Robert rolled his eyes; there was plenty of time, and he had no idea why she was rushing so early.
The next time Robert rolled over, he could still hear the sounds of the shower, yet was shocked to see that it was now eight-thirty in the morning; Lizzie had been in there roughly forty-five minutes, and Robert was far too caffeine-deprived to figure out why. Climbing out of bed, Robert paused to knock at the bathroom door. "Lizzie, are you almost done in there, or did you drown?"
"Ha. Ha. I'll be out in a minute."
Rolling his eyes, Robert made his way to the kitchen and started to make a fresh batch of coffee. By the time the coffee was ready, Elizabeth had immerged from the bathroom wrapped in her robe, with her hair wrapped in its own towel on her head.
"Great, I'll finish this cup and take over in the bathroom for a bit –"
"But I'm not done in there."
It had to be the fact that she was on coffee number two, and he was still working on coffee number one, but Robert just sat there and gaped at her.
"Elizabeth, it's quarter to nine; how are you not done in there? You look done. Your hair is washed, and up in its" gesturing wildly about his head, Robert wasn't sure what to call Elizabeth's hair "thing? Turban? Wrap? Either way, it's washed. Let it dry, and then we can concentrate on going to brunch."
"But I can't let it dry." Robert brought his free hand up and rubbed at his temples. Definitely not enough coffee for this. "Robert, my hair will take all day to dry if I just leave it. I've got to put product in it so I can style it and set it. I did try and tell you I needed to deal with my hair today." She must have noticed his look of horror because she seemed to adopt a pitying look. "Look, I'll try and be quick about it, but it's going to take a solid thirty minutes just to do my hair."
To Robert's dismay, she hadn't been lying. He was so confused about what could take so long that he actually followed her to the bathroom door with his coffee and watched. Some type of product was worked through the wet hair before she sprayed it down with another. A massive blow dryer came out from a cabinet with a spider-like attachment that he was later informed was a diffuser. It took the full thirty minutes and two more cups of coffee for Robert, but he stood there and watched as she scrunched, flipped, and dried her hair with the help of the hairdryer. Section by section, she gently eased the curls to life, creating the vibrant spirals he loved so much. When he thought she was finally finished, out came more product that she put on wet hands before flipping her hair over and working that through. The diffuser was finally pulled off, and she turned the heat to high, drying the last bit of hair and creating even more volume as she worked.
So. Much. Hair. Even having watched her style it, Robert was still confused how that much hair magically appeared when there didn't seem to be much to deal with when it was wet. He took his own shower in a daze and vowed to never get up after Elizabeth again when she told him it was hair wash day. He'd never see the shower if they needed to go somewhere. The thought that she got up even earlier if she washed it on a workday never even crossed his mind, and he was far too dazed as they scrambled out the door last minute to contemplate that.
After the First Hair Wash Incident, Robert gave Elizabeth a wide berth when it came to her hair. He frequently still starred at it with a face so full of confusion that Lizzie once asked him if he'd been replaced by a med student. It snapped him out of it long enough to grumble about sassy redheads and walk off to shout at Weaver. He took to staring at her hair, even more when she couldn't see it.
The scrub cap was a miraculous thing. Somehow all of Lizzie's mane could fit into what Robert considered to be a rather tiny cap. When she caught him staring during surgery and called him out on it, she earned a solid five points with her quip of "Yes, Robert, a scrub cap can easily fit all my hair under it. It's amazing how much they can hold when not being pressed to contain certain surgeon's rather overinflated ego. Bovy, please." Another time she had simply snipped, "Honestly, Robert, it's bigger on the inside," leaving her American colleagues rather confused.
The next Hair Incident as Robert had taken to calling them, came a few months into their relationship when they had gotten comfortable enough for her to leave a few things at his house. Elizabeth had headed up to the bed, and Robert stayed behind to lock up and give Gretel another snack before bed. When he finally made it upstairs, he was shocked to find Elizabeth changing out the pillowcase on what he had begun to think of as her side. There was nothing wrong with the pillowcase; it was 600 thread count. Robert had always taken pride in the fact that nothing in his home décor would make a woman cringe and think she was in a frat house, and to find his girlfriend secretly swapping out the bedding irked him greatly.
"Elizabeth. What are you doing?" He'd caught her by surprise, and she looked up so suddenly that her curls bounced about her face, slightly obscuring the deer in the headlights look.
"Ah, swapping the pillowcase." Startled she may have been, but her tone of voice held a note of obviousness that made Robert feel as if she thought she was speaking to a child.
"And why are you swapping the pillowcase?"
"Because it's not silk."
They were trading looks now, Robert's full of confusion and a hint of anger, whilst Elizabeth looked irritated at having to explain herself to him. She had continued to speak with that slow voice one adopts when dealing with idiots, and Robert decidedly did not want to deal with that from her this late at night.
"Because it's not silk. Well Elizabeth, you haven't complained before. In fact, I seem to recall you complimenting me on my choice in bedding, so when exactly did all of this become not good enough for you?"
Elizabeth blinked rapidly, and Robert could tell that his irritation had finally clicked for her as he watched her expression change in an instant.
"Oh, no, no, Robert, that's not- Look, that's not what this is, I." Sighing deeply, Elizabeth put the pillow down and sat down on the bed. "When you said you wanted me to start leaving things here, that you wanted me to be comfortable here, I thought- Robert, it's for my hair. I figured you weren't quite up for me to steal bathroom space for my hair products yet, and swapping out pillowcases was easier. You always seemed to like the silk when you've stayed over, so I didn't think you'd mind. . ."
Her. Hair. What the fuck.
"For your hair?"
Her hand shot up to cover her mouth, trying not to let him see her smile and laugh at his incredulous look.
"Yes. As soft and lovely as your sheets are, silk is so much nicer to curly hair. It really cuts down on the frizz and helps maintain the curls. It's an uphill battle with work, and it takes forever to wash, so I just try and do little things to help maintain it in between washes. I didn't think you'd mind." Elizabeth trailed off, and Robert felt very self-conscious standing there gaping at her.
Thinking back to his younger days where his own red curly hair grew to wild heights, Robert vaguely remembered putting very little effort into styling it. His only real goal was to touch it as little as possible because frizz was the bane of his existence. The most intentional part of his haircare routine had been to not dry off his hair with a regular towel. Instead, he'd used an old t-shirt because the material was softer, and he found it was less prone to creating frizz. Oh. Right. He did kind of know this stuff.
"Right. I knew that. Sort of. Sorry, it's been a long time since managing frizz has been an issue for me."
Robert had taken his time to apologize to Lizzie that night, making sure she felt very appreciated and wanted. He even asked her to bring over more of the silk pillowcases because truth be told, they really did feel nice to sleep on.
After what Robert considered to be a reasonable length of time and Elizabeth considered to be a bit on the short side, Robert felt comfortable asking her to move in. Which really turned into trying to convince her to move in with him. The woman was stubborn and apparently had never cared enough in the past to move in with a partner. She liked her 'independence', or so she said.
Robert learned the hard way what that meant. She liked her bathroom countertop space all to herself.
It was a Sunday morning, the first morning that they had woken up together as a couple who lived together. Robert was as giddy as a small child, being told Christmas had come early. He had planned to take Lizzie to brunch that morning and was contemplating their day together when he realized she had already snuck off to the bathroom to get ready. No. Not this time. He had learned his lesson about Lizzie getting in there first. No. Never again.
Thankfully, upon reaching the bathroom, he found that she hadn't even started the shower yet. Instead, she had been putting away the last of her things. Elated to find that she hadn't started the agonizingly long ritual of wash day before he got a go at the hot water, he didn't really pay attention to what she had been putting away until after she left the room.
As he went to turn on the hot water in the shower, Robert paused, confused at where he was. This could not be his shower. His shower was now covered in bottles of hair products.
"What the. . ." Looking around, Robert started reading the labels, curious as to what had taken over. Words like gel and conditioner popped up several times.
"Elizabeth!"
She hadn't gone far and was back in the bathroom promptly.
"What's wrong?"
"What?" He gestured wildly to the hair products that had taken over the shower. "Why do you need…" Robert had to look back at the numerous bottles just to count what all she had accumulated, "two shampoos, three conditioners, and three different hair gels?" As the number of products finally registered in his brain, Robert panicked and looked over at the sinks. No. She'd struck there too. All he could do was point in that direction, mouth wide open.
And she laughed.
"Robert." He didn't like that tone. It was the tone she reserved for talking to Weaver when Weaver was trying to Weaver someone. "Robert, love, you've seen my bathroom at my flat. Several times. This can't really come as a shock to you."
Oh yes, it could. For some reason, he'd always pictured all those bottles in the shower as empty. While Lizzie was fastidious at work, she was a rather lax woman at home. Nothing was ever really a mess, but typically after a long day, she just couldn't be bothered to do anything resembling cleaning, and he'd always attributed the state of her shower to that. The idea that all those bottles were full had never crossed his mind.
Noticing how shocked he was, Elizabeth took pity on him and spoke. "Robert, I use all those products regularly. I've got a regular shampoo for weekly use, a clarifying shampoo for every other week to help with product build-up, my regular conditioner, a deep conditioner for once a month or as needed, a leave-in conditioner that I use weekly, and then I typically mix a bit of the styling products depending on how I want my hair to look when it's dry."
Nope. His brain was not keeping up with the words coming out of her mouth. Eight products, all in the shower that she used regularly. No. He made more noises of confusion and continued to gesture at the sinks where another five or six bottles were sitting out.
"Refreshing spray, and a spray bottle of water for in-between wash days. A heat spray to protect my hair from the blow dryer. A curl cream and gel for styling as I dry it or to help refresh it. And last, a dry shampoo for really bad hair weeks. Are you done complaining now, or is this going to be an issue because all of this was out at my flat, and you'd never said a word about the space it took up."
Whilst Robert was having trouble processing the amount of hair products she owned; he was not having trouble processing her tone of voice. It was Dangerous Lizzie and was hinting at all of her comments about thinking he was rushing their living arrangements. He would not give her more ammunition on that front, especially not on the very first morning.
"No, no. It's not an issue. The bathroom at your apartment wasn't as big as this, and I guess I just didn't pay attention to how much space your things took up. Or really thought about what products you even use. . . Nevermind. I'm just going to take a shower and then let you have at it so we can go to brunch."
When her stare softened, Robert knew he had managed to say the right thing.
"Good answer." She left the room, and Robert shook his head as he watched her leave. So. Much. Hair. Oh god. The shower drain. Nope, don't think about it.
Finally, turning back to the shower, he cranked the hot water up and let it wash away the confusion of the morning. Looking at all of the hair products around him, Robert couldn't help but think this was the reason she'd never wanted to live with someone before. That or her previous boyfriends, having a full head of hair themselves, had paid far more attention to her hair care routine and realized they didn't want to live with her full time because of it. As much as Robert had embraced his very receding hairline, the numerous products for his girlfriend's curls made him regret that he'd never paid much attention to his own curls when he had them. Too late now.
A month into living together, Robert had thought he'd finally gotten used to all of Lizzie's hair routine quirks, so he was shocked when he walked into the bathroom to find Lizzie in the middle of what appeared to be a mad scientist experiment. Several bottles and jars were out on the counter, a towel was draped over her shoulders, and she was working a handful of . . . something through her hair. Robert, being an intelligent man, backed out of the room slowly, knowing better at this point than to say anything to her.
When she came downstairs half an hour later, her hair was wrapped up in a head wrap of sorts. Robert didn't know and was too afraid to ask. Instead, he asked if she wanted to watch a movie or if she'd need to stop and finish whatever process she was in the middle of at some point. He was more than a little afraid when she said she was done with her hair for the night, and she'd be sleeping on it like that. Self-preservation was a glorious motivation and easily allowed Robert to keep his mouth shut, allowing himself to enjoy the fact that Elizabeth was now snuggled into his side on the couch and obviously comfortable enough in what he considered to be their home to get into her much more terrifying hair routines around him.
The hair wrap seemed oily and smelled like coconut, but Robert took it as a weird sign that Lizzie was serious about him if she was letting him see her like this. Sure it was strange to see her go to bed with her hair wrapped up and attempting to hide his cringe as he thought about all that product getting on the bed, but when she finally washed and styled her hair in the morning, he'd never seen her curls so glorious. Delightfully soft and silky, Robert knew he could never get enough of them. Or of her for that matter.