I give up. You win.
I can no longer fight against what is and what has always been, particularly in the face of all this humidity.
You are curly. I could sort of pretend you weren't when I lived in drier climes, but here in the Gulf Coast? Not so much.
Every day since I moved here you have screamed at me, "Give it up, girl! Put down the flat iron and round brush and just walk away."
So today, you win. Instead of trying to slick back the curly escapees and pin down the naughty waves, you can have at it.