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As the rock group Three Dog Night crooned back in the '70s, I have never been to Spain - or Portugal, for that matter.

My hair, however, is fast approaching the size of the Iberian Peninsula. In fact, I've started referring to my neck as my isthmus.

A stubborn, moisture-laden weather pattern has had my hair in its oppressive grip for the past 25 days. With humidity levels in the 700 percent range, my hair grows big, bigger and more bigger by the nanosecond. Let me tell you, this is the greenhouse effect that I'd like to see some experts tackle, one they could really sink their combs' teeth into. Although they'd likely never see their combs again as my Iberian Peninsula hair doubles as the Bermuda Triangle. It's nothing for small objects, such as barrettes, headbands and parakeets, to stay lost in my hair for days, weeks, even years. I'm pretty sure the bobby pin that shook loose from my hair the other day was part of the anchoring system for a French twist installed for my junior prom.

If you think I'm exaggerating or imagining things, you have never lived with my hair. Did I imagine the round brush that had to be cut free after becoming hopelessly tangled in my tresses? No.

Did I imagine the barrette - bulging with the girth of my plumped-up locks - that finally gave way and boinged off my head, nearly putting out the eye of an innocent bystander? I did not.

And finally, did I imagine the stage-whispered choruses of "Ch-ch-ch-chia" that followed me everywhere I went one particularly muggy day last summer? I assure you I did not.

Taming my hair is a formidable task even when the isobars are arranged in a more favorable pattern. Understand that we are talking about hair whose routine care and maintenance involves the use of a self-propelled Lawnboy and a weed whacker. Hair that regularly qualifies as the "two" in "two-for-one" memberships. But, I have to be careful what I say here because my hair is like a horse; it smells fear. If it catches even a whiff of uncertainty - much less outright fear - coming from me, I might as well invest in a hat factory because hair-wise I've lost the upper hand. Better to regard my hair as a spoiled pet who has been overindulged to the point of getting inflated ideas that far exceed his station in life. Better to keep a firm hand - or two - on it at all times. In other words, I must show my hair who's boss.

And I have assembled an arsenal of hair weaponry to help me do just that. From texturizers to contouring lotions to anti-frizz creams, I'm armed and ready for battle.

I've been more or less holding my own during this recent soggy siege, but there have been days when I've been forced to take more drastic measures against my expanding hair - like actually hosing it down so it didn't block my sightline to the rearview mirror. (It's possible I'm now developing root rot.) But since the latest weather report holds no promise of swift relief, I better try to make the best of the situation. You know, look for the positive in having hair the size of two countries.

Use this as an opportunity to learn more about the cultures of Spain and Portugal. Hey, I could even dust off that old pair of castanets my sister brought back from Madrid years ago. There's just one problem…I have to untangle them from the back of my head first.

- Lee Gaitan

Lee Gaitan is the author of two books, Falling Flesh Just Ahead and My Pineapples Went to Houston - Finding the Humor in My Dashed Hopes, Broken Dreams and Plans Gone Outrageously Awry. She also has written a chapter in the bestselling book, The Divinity of Dogs. Her work has appeared on The Huffington Post, Better Over 50, Mothers Always Write, Midlife Boulevard and The Good Men Project. She lives in suburban Atlanta with her husband and dog. Connect with her at www.leegaitan.com; https://www.facebook.com/mypineappleswenttohouston; and www.twitter.com/LGPineapple.