Dying Greasy Unwashed Hair Novels & Stories

Someone started to laugh loudly. It was a young man with disheveled hair. He was dressed in very ordinary robes, barefoot and looking a little unkempt. The ankle part of a trouser leg was worn out, showing a calf densely covered with black hair. He was bold and unrestrained, imbibing fine wine and devouring all the delicacies on the short gold table like a rampaging tornado. His hands and mouth were covered with grease, as he casually wiped them on his tattered clothes, stretching himself lazily.

“I’m starving. My legs are gonna fall off, can we go now?" “You’re so dramatic,” she said, flipping her straight black hair over her shoulder as she picked up another top she probably didn’t need. Her hair looked perfect, shiny even though she hadn’t combed it in, like, a week. I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous Tbh, Liv’s hair was smooth and straight thanks to her South Korean genes, while I had to fight with mine every damn morning. My blonde, always dry and needing ten different products just to look half-decent. "It's called retail therapy, honey," she added with a grin. "You should try enjoying yourself."

“I have extremely dry hair. In fact, I can only wash it once a week or it’ll break off until there were only about four frazzled strands left. Plus, I iron it, which dries it out even more. So I have to condition and wrap it—in silk, mind you because cotton draws out the moisture which would dry it even more—every night to keep it as healthy as possible.” “Really? Huh, I had no idea. I have to wash my hair every morning or it’s a fucking grease pit.” His gaze wandered over my scarf again. “You know, I could just rub my head against yours and give you some of my—” When he tipped his head to the side and tried to buff his hair against my shoulder, I screeched out a laugh and shoved him away. “

And when I didn't shampoo? She trembled, stewing in humiliation. The two women watched the car drive away, but their moods couldn't have been more different. "Um, Miss... does my hair look greasy?" Kylie whispered. "Huh? Hair? Why?" Livia touched the end of Kylie's simple ponytail. "Looks normal to me." She rubbed her fingers, noticing a faint trace left behind. "But seriously, how many days has it been since you washed it?" Livia chuckled.

Every two days without washing, the hair is sticky, itchy, and tingling like lice crawling on the head. Finished bathing. Conveniently crumple clothes, put a little soap, wash quickly. Hook it up to the clothesline, it'll be dry tomorrow morning by the wind. Daisy left her hair disheveled, a towel slung over her shoulders, ignoring the running water. Continue to eat. "Blow-dry your hair." Plum said to Daisy. Daisy raised her face and pointed to her mouth, which meant "busy eating." “Using a hair dryer isn’t good for the hair.. The weather is windy, the hair is almost dry on its own, less damaged.” Daisy gestured. The man waited for Daisy to open her mouth to speak.

I stayed under the warm water for what seemed like hours. Every time I went under the stream, the water pooling under me was dark brown and disgusting from the dried blood I was furiously scrubbing off my skin. My hair was the worst. It was matted with tree twigs and dirt. “A good thing my hair is black.” I scoffed, running my fingers through the strands to untangle them.

Obviously, his body was crying out desperately for hydration. “Well, his name is Reed Taylor and has awful, blah-colored hair. And he was a user way back, so he says. And he has this invisible thing that hangs around with him all of the time. It kind of gets in my way, but it has its uses. Like today when the demon attacked me in the middle of the hamburger section—” “What’s wrong with his hair?” Seth asked. “I mean, what is it exactly that you don’t like?”

Feeling faint and sick, she stripped off the slip dress and her underwear, tossing them into the wastebasket before crawling into the hot water. She washed her hair over and over again, trying to get the dried dirt oil - her hair had rubbed - gunk out. It was like trying to wash out oil paint. The scent of it lingered too, like the water from a vase after the flowers have rotted, faint and sweet and spoiled on her skin. No amount of soap seemed to be able to get rid of it.

I did not want to get to my people looking as if I came from the grave even if I did. My hair was washed which left the water brown with dirt. The shame. I did not even know what I looked like. I probably looked like a crazy person. My hair had knots, deciding to just move on. I scrubbed my skin until it burned, scrubbed until I was sure I was clean all over. No part of me was not cleaned.

He’s cheating on her… it's a damn shame… she’s way too good for him. I sucked my teeth and returned my phone to my pocket. Then I began wetting my smooth thin unforgiving black wavy hair in hopes of slicking it back as best I could. My hair always slipped out of the scrunchies and I, unfortunately, didn’t have any scrunchies to attempt to tame my hair. The water worked for about a minute and then the waves started showing themselves.