My dad doesn't like my dred...my single dred lock. If that's how you spell the nonsense? I'm not aware. It resides on the right part of my scalp, perfect, alone, isolated. My one and only lock. The confrontation: It was a laughing angry, but I lifted my foot up and sighed. And then hours later I find myself in the shower combing it out. No more knots. That should make you happy. I shrug at trying to look good. What is the point when failing is a major possibility? Maybe my philosophy is: It's better to fail when I didn't try to look good, than try to look good and then fail. Possibly the only thing I won't try for. Look Good Amanda. Nah. -Amanda