A Tale of Hair

OK, fair warning. I'm about to do something I promised myself I wouldn't do with this blog--complain about something that just has to do with me, me, me.

I had my hair cut today. Big deal, right? First, let me tell what I usually do when I have my hair cut.

To begin with, I don't usually go until that day when I wake up, walk into my bathroom, and scare the living bejeezus out of myself as I walk by the bathroom mirror. At least 98% of the time when I go to a stylist, I walk in and say, "Do what you want. I don't care." And I don't. Understand, please, that because I have to remove my glasses while they're working on my hair, I can't really tell a thing about how its going to look when they're done. As I said, I really don't care. As proof of that, let me say that at least 95% of that 98%, they take off the cape, I put on my glasses, look into the big mirror, and say, "Looks nice. Thanks!" Then I leave my tip, pay my bill, and skippy skip happily out the door.

But none of this was the case today.

Its been awhile since I've had my hair cut. Sort of. I got totally unnerved about a month ago when my bangs kept falling into my eyes. At which point I grabbed up my sewing shears and whacked them off. Not a good job, by any means, but practical. By now, they had grown out long enough they were once again hanging into my eyes, and they desperately needed a professional to get them straightened back out.

Overall, my hair had grown below my shoulders. It was long enough I could pull it back into a ponytail. It looked good. I mean, really pretty good. I would look in the mirror and say, "Hey, I like that! I actually look pretty good here."

So what possessed me to have it cut? I have no idea. No wait, that's not true. What possessed me was an email I found in my inbox at 7:15 this morning. It was from my Mary Kay lady. The email led me to a Mary Kay website where I was able to load in a photo of myself and then virtually try out a variety of make-up looks and hairstyles.

What I ended up with surprised me. It looked hip. It looked modern. And the "after" photo promised me I could look just like that. What else was I going to do? I reached for the phone and called my hair stylist. And as if all the stars were aligned just for me, she had an appointment available late this afternoon.

We all know today was atypical, because this was one of those remaining 2% of times where I knew what I wanted. Not just sort of wanted or kind of wanted, but wanted. I had the photo. Now in all fairness to the stylist, I did not show her the photo. And maybe that was a huge mistake, but I don't think so. Please allow me to explain. The virtual look was considerably shorter than what my hair length would accommodate and I wanted to keep all of my length.

That was actually the first instruction I gave her. "I want to keep all this length." My other instructions were that it was to part on the right (instead of my typical middle part), sweep over to the side, and frame my face. Seems pretty simple and straight-forward, n'est pas?

She's pulling out sections in the back and I think she's just contemplating the outcome when she makes her first snip. And with that, I knew I was doomed. Hair's a funny thing. It seems dead, but it actually has its own sensations. You just know how much has been cut off. And it was a lot. At that point, you can't say, "Hey, too much. Put some of that back right now!" Nope, you are stuck. And so, on she cut.

The end product? Chin length (there goes the length). Parted in the middle (not on the right). Bangs across the front(not swept to the side). And its curled in a bob around my face. I look like a bowling ball. Have you ever seen a bowling ball that looked hip and modern? I'm willing to wager not. Ohh, and those bangs I needed a "pro" to fix? They look as if they've been cut on the deck of an Italian cruise ship!

There's only one answer to this. One thing, and one thing only that can make this better--C-H-O-C-O-L-A-T-E. Massive quantities of chocolate.