Wednesday, October 12, 2011


Everyone is kind of neurotic about their hair. There's something really individualizing about what you do to your hair, or how you wear it and style it or ... how you don't.

I see this with my own boys. Man Friend says he doesn't mind losing his hair, he's ready for the shave etc., and yet when he goes Supercutting ... he never gets it very short.

The Kid watches the cowlicks and peaks and points of his bed head on the sidewalk shadows as he walks to school. He likes the top of his hair and his bangs ... longish, but shudders at any Bieber comments and waves his hand at me like an old Frenchman if I mention anything about the reduced shampooing benefits of a cool and freeing summer buzz cut.

Little Snoopy goes through "hair must change" phases. My sister is always torturing hers with little bobby pins and loves when I let her torture mine (inevitably I stab myself  against my pillow in the middle of the night after I knock myself out from hairspray fumes -- this was vegas as well as cousin's wedding)

HM is very punctual with her bang trimming. She's been rocking barettes lately. Like that look. Sweet but not baby sweet. The list of people and their specifics could definitely go on. But I'll spare you. I will.

It all comes down to my hair. I have been dying it pretty regularly since I was about 26. Though what I thought was "going gray" then ... bah, young idiot.
Now finding the time to actually get it taken care of has been a challenge. I have been trying to wait for the right time and opening to see my favorite person. Alas, I am a pain in the ass.

All morning, my energy was skittish, my sentences impatient all with the proper coffee intake.

I was on Defcon Ponytail for as long as I could hold out.

Today I got a haircut during lunch.

I feel liberated. My hair and my head is mine again.

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