When I was in 7th grade, everyone who was anyone was wearing scrunchies in their hair. You can't tell, but I had a great scrunchie in my hair in this picture. Yeah. I was cool. But this picture was taken in the 8th grade. In 7th grade, I wasn't so cool.
All my friends had these glamorous scrunchies in their hair. Pink ones;Green ones; Tiger striped and Polkadotted. I was very envious. I didn't have any. I felt like the only kid not wearing those beloved scrunchies. I had tons of hair that would look "so beyond cool" if it was adorned with the perfect scrunchie to go with the perfect oversized sweater and the perfect tapered pants. My life was ruined. I didn't have a scrunchie to save my life.
However, I was a creative little girl, even back when I was 12 years old. I spent some time at school scrutinizing the makings of a scrunchie. I looked at everyone's hair. It couldn't be too hard to fashion one of those treasures, I thought. At home, we had this laundry basket that was filled with unmatched socks. A whole big basket of them. That could completely be another post for another day, but suffice it to say, I had a whole basket of potential scrunchies right in front of me.
I took a sturdy sock and very sneakily, cut about 3/4 of an inch off the top of the crew cut. I threw the sock away, knowing nobody would miss it, and I was left with a beloved scrunchie. Life couldn't get better. Now I could walk down the halls at school with my head held high; my head that was adorned with my super-scrunchie. I energetically made about twelve of these scrunchies, discarding the useless sock remains. I was all set.
The next day at school during typing class, my scrunchie-induced happiness came to a screeching halt. My friend was saying something about her new "fabulous scrunchie" and I whipped my braid around and said "Oh, I have one too!" She took one look at me and said "What is that in your hair? A sock?"
I was mortified.
"What? No. That's so lame!" I faltered. I turned right around, pulled my sock-tied braid over my shoulder, and pretended to continue typing while trying to fight the tears that were ballooning around my eyes.
I'm pretty sure it took a very long time to live down the "sock scrunchie", but I survived. In fact, I learned how to make a proper scrunchie with material sewed into a long tube, elastic running through it, and the two ends sewed together to form a circle. They weren't the most popular-looking scrunchies, but at least they weren't mistaken for a sock anymore.
In the picture at the beginning of the post, I was a recovered sock-scrunchie-wearing Survivor. I was wearing a homemade scrunchie. I had a reason to smile.