Before I write about Mom and Fran’s second hairpulling match, I want to describe a little bit more about them and my impression of what may have caused their confrontations.
They were both good wives and moms who loved their families, were kind, worked hard, went to church, and strived to do the right thing. I don’t pretend to fully understand why two women who considered themselves ladies, acted so unladylike; not once, but three times. From what I saw as a kid, the root cause (pardon the pun) was their physical similarity—same height, weight, build, bust size (36C), eye color (blue), and gorgeous, full, luxuriant hair. The only major differences were their hair color (Mom black; Fran blonde) and the shape of their face (Mom oval; Fran slightly square). As a result, there were only two things they could easily change to make them less similar—their hair color or hairstyle. At a time when being blonde was all the rage, Fran wasn’t going to color her hair dark, and with midnight-black hair it would’ve been difficult for Mom to go blonde without chemicals damaging her hair. So, they independently chose to grow their beautiful, long hair even longer, which certainly set them apart from the majority of women at a time when short hairstyles were “in.” Neither Mom nor Fran ever thought of cutting her hair short because, as they put it, “any woman can wear her hair short, but only a few have hair pretty enough to wear it long." They were encouraged to wear their hair long by their husbands, who loved long hair—the longer the better.
Although unintentional, I think my Dad and Fran’s husband, Bob, helped contribute to Mom and Fran’s growing rivalry. On several occasions, I heard Bob compliment Mom about her hair, with Fran present. I also heard Dad compliment Fran about her hair, when Mom was present. I could tell by the expressions on both moms’ faces they didn’t appreciate such remarks about their rival’s tresses coming from their husbands. As Mom and Fran’s hair grew longer, competition, jealousy, and rivalry took root and began growing, too.
Now, here’s the account of their fight.
About 11 weeks after Mom and Fran’s first hairpulling match, I came home from school and walked into the kitchen to get a snack. I heard Mom come in behind me and ask how my day was. As I turned around to face her I got a shock. She’d cut her hair so that it was about 4 to 6 inches below her shoulders, just like Fran had done soon after their first fight.
“How do you like it?” Mom asked.
Without thinking before speaking, I blurted out “Did you and Fran have another hairpulling contest?”
Now it was Mom’s turn to be shocked. Regaining her composure, she asked me how I knew about it. So, I told her everything. Then I repeated my question, which she hadn’t answered. It took some cajoling on my part but I finally got her to tell me what happened.
Since Mom told me about her second hairpulling match with Fran, I’ve attempted to write what she said as though it was in her own words.
“I was squatting beside one of my flower beds, weeding, when someone grabbed my hair and pulled me to my feet. It was that sneaky bit….”
“`It’s alright, Mom’, I reassured her, ‘go ahead and say it.’”
“It was that sneaky bitch, Fran! She spun me round so that we were face-to-face and slapped me hard. Then she started pulling the hair grips out of my French Twist."
“Realizing I had no choice but to fight back, I went for her French Twist and began pulling out the hair grips. Soon, our hair tumbled down.”
“`You didn’t think I was going to move away without getting even, did you?’ the bitch said.” Mom was so angry she kept referring to Fran as “the bitch.”
“With our hair down, we stood there pulling and pulling for some time, though not as long as our first fight. The more we pulled, the madder we got. The madder we got, the harder we pulled. The harder we pulled the more hair we lost. I thought I was giving it to the bitch as good as I was getting, but I wasn’t. With 10 more inches of hair than Fran, she was having an easier time getting hold of my hair and pulling strands out. So, I went for her bangs.”
“`Oh no you don’t, you stringy-haired slut! You’re not doing that again.’ The bitch yelled.”
“Give up and I’ll let go!”
“`Let go, Lois, or I’m going to make you sorry you didn’t!’”
“Give!”
“`Okay, you asked for it!’”
“The bitch let go of my hair and grabbed...”—tears welled-up in Mom’s eyes—“grabbed my breasts. I couldn’t believe she stooped so low! She squeezed and pinched them so hard—I’ve never experienced pain like that.”
"I let go of her bangs and was going to grab her wrists to pull her hands off my breasts when, suddenly, she pushed me to the ground. The next thing I knew she had me in a school-girl pin (I was impressed Mom knew the term). I tried to buck her off, but she bounced up-and-down on my breasts with her fat ass, making them even sorer.”
Mom began to get teary-eyed, again. After shedding a few tears, she continued her story.
“The bitch told me she was going to even the score. Grabbing me by my waves, she pulled really hard. I told her I quit, but she continued to pull anyway. I began to feel my roots give way. My scalp felt like it had been pricked by a few dozen hot pinpoints, as the bitch pulled strands loose.”
“`This is for the two clumps of hair you pulled out of my bangs! And this is so you’ll never dare pull on my bangs, again!’”
“Oh, did it hurt as she pulled out more strands from my waves. The last thing she said was `There now, this will make a nice addition to my collection of your hair.’”
Mom stopped talking. I let her sit in silence for a few moments.
“I’ve still got a headache. Would you please get me some aspirin and water?”
Once she’d taken the aspirin, I asked Mom “How are you going to explain your shorter hairdo to Dad?”
“Oh, that won’t be a problem. I’ll just say I was inspired by Fran’s new hairstyle. Besides, he’ll get over it when I tell him that I’ve decided to let my hair grow even longer than before.”
My next question was “What about Fran?”
“We’ll meet, again, and when we do….” Mom stopped in mid-thought. When she resumed, there was anger in her voice as she counted off her grievances against Fran “…sneaking up behind me, squeezing my breasts, and pulling more strands out of my waves after I’d given up—ooouuu, I’m going to make her rue this day!”
"When you do, can I watch?" I asked expectantly, hoping to see another hairpulling match.
"Look, I know you enjoyed watching me and your girlfriend pull each other's hair, but our catspats are between us girls and aren't for public entertainment."
I was so embarrassed I started to blush. Mom not only knew I got a thrill out of watching her hairpulling catfight with Fran, she also knew I had a crush on her rival.
"Oh, it's alright, there's nothing to be ashamed of. I could tell by the excitement in your voice you enjoyed watching us pull hair. As for your crush on Fran--well, mothers can sense such things. And, yes, I'll be sure and tell you about our next hairpulling fight."
"Why don't you have it out with her right now? She's moving in a week."
"You've got to be joking. My scalp is so tender and sore, I couldn't stand even a light tug on my hair. Besides, I want Fran to have time to grow her hair longer--as I know she will--so that I'll have plenty to pull."
Sure enough, four years later, Mom and Fran had their final hairpulling match. As Mom predicted, they’d both grown their hair longer than ever before. Their hairpulling match also lasted longer than the ones before. Unfortunately, I wasn’t around to see it. But Mom kept her promise and told me all about it, which will be my next story posting, “Moms Battle in Hair Wars: The Grudge Match.”
