I finally got some snow yesterday and it was glorious. I will now cease with the begging. Everything in it's own time.
So, I cut my hair. Well, I didn't cut it. The in-all-ways-beautiful Jenny cut it for me. I thought about it for a very long time and I thought I was ready for a change. I had done long hair and now I wanted the cute, long bobs that everyone else and their mother is sporting. This should have been my first red flag. I NEVER want what everyone else wants. It's a rule. Jenny, who has the patience of Job with me, gave me every opportunity to pull up on the reins, but no, no I say, do it. Cut all that heavy boring hair off. Do it now. Hoo boy.
Some things to know about my hair; I have a lot of it. When I voiced a concern over early female baldness Jenny assured me that I could stop worrying on that account. It is fine with a tendency to frizz and during the low humidity months I frequently look like what happens when you place your hand on that electrical ball they have at museums. It sticks out all over. Finally, it is wavy. Not curly, so much, although it can put up a good fight with the flat iron. It just bends and twists with no rhyme or reason. Something to know about me and my hair; I am lazy. When you put all these things together, a cut involving any sort of layering is, well, ill advised. I know this. Knowing all this, I was still positive that I was ready for a break up. As it turns out, what I really needed was more of a rest period. A few things happened to to illuminate this fact.
The first three people I see after my new hair gave me total crickets. Nothing. I finally asked what they all thought and got awkward attempts to say something positive when their brains were feeding them something more like what-were-you-thinking. Then my husband, the man I love and respect above all others says to me, "Well, I've always preferred it long." Say what? Now you're telling me this. I watched six inches of my hair being swept off the floor while telling Jenny, "no, my husband doesn't really care how long my hair is" and now you care? Again....hoo boy.
I attempted to do it myself. Girls, you know what I'm talking about here. You leave the salon looking all spiffy and then you try and recreate the magic and all you get is toads. Toads and maybe a plague of locusts thrown in for good measure. I panicked and messaged Jenny that my hair was in full revolt mode and something needed to be done to make friends with it again. She (who by now I'm sure has placed me firmly on the naughty list) calmly says not to worry and offers me an appointment. I'm thinking maybe more layers so the curl/wave has more freedom. This is a really big risk, because, you know, grow out. What if I want to grow it out?
Finally, we went to see The Arrival (very good film) and I sat for 2 hours watching Amy Adams beautiful, long, wavy, not curly hair and I wanted mine back. Turns out I needed to let it go to know for sure that I wanted it back. I am ridiculous.
Let me make it very clear that none of this hair drama was in any way Jenny's fault. In fact, Jenny did the exactly right thing; she cut it, but she left the layers long so that if I did decide to grow it out (she might be slightly psychic) I could do so with as much ease as possible. Which I am going to do. Grow it back. It's only hair and all it takes is patience, which surprisingly, I have an abundance of. In the meantime I will make better friends with my blow dryer and curling iron and life will go on.
Henceforth, if I mention cutting my hair you have my permission to knock some sense into me. Kindly, of course. :-)
Did I mention it snowed?