Once in high school, while lying around on the floor of my bedroom with friends, one of my friends sat up with a handful of bobby pins in his hand.
"Why?" he asked, referring to the fact that he had managed to find about nine bobby pins in just one small corner of my room. One of my girlfriends laughed. She got it. I just shrugged, there were really no words to realistically justify the reason bobby pins seemed to find their way onto every surface of my room and my life.
I danced on and off from the age of seven until I was 18. As anyone who has danced (and had long hair) at any point in their life knows, bobby pins become a huge part of your life. I rarely left the house without the small case I kept bobby pins in. Another box of the pins sat on my dresser at home for mornings. Bobby pins were the only thing I needed to keep the thick mass of hair on my head in check and were essential to my life.
Yes, I tended to lose them. In bags, on the floor of my room, in the bathroom of my school, and so on. But sometimes, the odd misplaced bobby pin was the secret hero. Beyond keeping my hair out of my face, they can pick locks (I have not done this), and serve as bookmarks or paperclips in a real pinch (yes, I have actually done this). Finding a pin lying around right when I needed it most was one of the small victories on even the worst of days.
For prom, I had a friend do my hair, and at the end of the night I managed to fish 23 pins out of my hair. After a show, the number was usually higher. The variety of pins was nothing to scoff at either. There were the jumbo pins I used almost daily as I grew out my bangs, the wide pins used to shape a perfect ballerina bun, the mini pins for holding down wisps and flyaways, and of course the good old classic pin used for absolutely everything and anything else.
Though my dancing days are long gone and I'm not planning on sticking 23 pins in my head again anytime soon, I still am never far from at least a few stray pins and will always keep a jar of them on my dresser. Bobby pins may just be among the true unsung heroes of my life. Or at least my hair.
