A Haircut Story
Once upon a time, like last year…
I really liked the girl. She was super nice. Once when I was there, I interrupted the engrossing saga of her boyfriend troubles to ask her to cut my bangs a little shorter and she sliced another two inches off.
The next time, I did not ask her to cut my bangs shorter. Consequently, they were too long the instant I left the salon. I did not encourage any boyfriend conversation. I did however, tell her to take off as much as she liked in the back, as long as I would still be able to get it in a ponytail. That was my only hair rule – do whatever you want, as long as it goes into a ponytail. Apparently the term “ponytail” was too vague. She chopped it off right at my jaw (like an arrow saying the double chin is RIGHT HERE), and took a HUGE and mysterious chunk out of the back. After I came home to wash the obligatory three hundred pounds of product out of it, my husband said, “What did she do to your hair?” (seriously? That’s what you’re going to lead with? Have 16 years of marriage taught you nothing?). Later, when I was out of the shower, his eyes flickered to my hair and he casually asked, “You’re not going back to her again, right?” When it dried it looked like a triangle. With a chunk missing.
At least it happened two whole weeks before a visit with my tall, skinny, blonde, glamorous cousin from California.
I suffered through growing it out for the next eleventeen months. I hacked at the bangs myself and got the occasional trim at the place that does it for six dollars. Then around Christmas, I had the weirdest dream that I got it all cut off and I loved it. I couldn’t stop thinking about that dream. I was so happy…so carefree… so thin…
Around here, these kinds decisions have to be run through the Committee Opposed To Change. I started dropping hints about getting my hair cut and brought home a few of those outrageously expensive hair magazines that promise ten thousand looks that will make you gorgeous! My husband said I could cut my hair if I let him shave his head. So then we had to take a time out to fight about that for two months, because one of us thought that getting a haircut was the same as going from hair to no hair. Eventually, we called a truce and I won. I still had to make my presentation to the junior members of the committee. I brought out the magazines and showed the kids pictures of what I was considering.
Big didn’t seem to care about the length of the hair at all, he was busy looking at all the blonde models.