I’m so bad at keeping the promises I make to myself. Heinous I know. I should scorn me. Here’s my misdeed: I cut my hair off a few days ago, even after I had promised myself that I was finally going to let it grow out. I guess I should say I paid someone else to cut it off for me. Cutting my own hair was something I only had the guts to do when I was in college . . . and I simply didn’t have haircutting funds in my meager beauty essentials budget. That money was reserved for things like sunless tanner, toothpaste, loofahs, curly fries, and raspberry lemonade. I did learn, though, that curly hair can hide a lot of scissor mishaps, A LOT. Hence I wore my hair naturally curly all the time. There was no other option. Perhaps my curly hair is what attracted all the crazies. I’d say that is a pretty safe bet.
Anyway, I digress. Back to why I recently cut my hair.
I really tried for almost six months to let my hair grow out. I’ve been sporting a short do for a few years now because it is easier to steer clear of things like lice, bubble gum mishaps, and knotty bed head. These are all things I have despised since childhood. A shorter cut also requires way less time to straighten out all my blasted curls. Love/hate relationship I have with those curls of mine.
Well, after I was done with my latest postpartum shedding of hair, I started to feel like I needed a new look to go along with my newly thinned out hair. The long luscious look is what I had in mind. And by long I mean something past my shoulders, and by luscious I mean tasty thick. My hair was growing back in little wispies so one step closer to lusciousness, and the bulk of my hair was now about clavicle-level. That’s well on its way to long in my book. But it was driving me insane. Bubba was pulling it all the time. Bosco was pulling it all the time. The Husband was pulling it all the time. Even I was pulling it all the time (I think at one point a neighborhood kid, and a cheeky little balloon pulled it too). And it was hot, perhaps because our air conditioner is currently non-existent, and I’m hormonal what with the return of my monthly friend. All I know is that my hair was causing some major rifts in my familial relationships. All of my problems could be traced back to the hair. So I called up the salon and perjured myself in the styling chair.
Originally I had intended to only take off a little, just to freshen everything up. I had a pretty detailed conversation with the stylist as to what I wanted, and what I didn’t want. I also told her what I like on my hamburger, and admitted to not reading Harry Potter. Really personal stuff I told this gal. But as the haircut progressed I could tell that it was quite a bit shorter than I had suggested because for one, the mole at the nape of my neck was visible, and two, my entire neck was pretty much visible. Nowhere in my description had I said I need more neck view. Let me just point out that my head and neck are pretty much the same location-wise as everyone else. My head sits on top of my neck, and my neck eventually connects with my shoulders. So I have a neck. I just wanted to get that straight.
I’m such a pansy though. I told the girl I liked it, and then I even tipped her a good 20%. Geeee-ooosshh. And it’s not that it was even a bad haircut. I’m starting to actually like it because I feel free as a bird. Not to mention I feel like a little pixie spreading happy dust every which way I go. How many long-haired people feel like pixies? I would wager a guess and say not that many. Hair is heavy. But alas, I still miss the idea of having long hair. I’ll probably never get there. Not with my high agitation rate, and constant self flake-itude. I guess someday I'll learn to stop making promises I don't intend to keep.
With all this talk of hair, I think I’m going to really get personal on my next post and reveal some hairstyles I’ve had through childhood on. Awkward will probably be the title.