When I looked in the mirror, I was shocked. Where there used to be light brown hair framing my face, there was now the shortest of pixie cuts, featuring platinum blonde hair that was barely long enough to spike, and definitely not long enough to reach the top of my ears. My shock slowly gave way to acceptance. My face relaxed into smile. I ran my fingers through what was left of my hair. I tousled the bangs. My hands passed over the bristly feeing of the sides of my head. And then I froze.
|I looked like her, but older, with a less |
Photo Credit: Eshorthairstyles.com
I didn't recall discussing this with Chuck. The next conversation we have could get a little awkward if he can't talk because he is too busy staring at my nearly bald head. My husband and I talk about everything; how is it that I neglected to mention I was going to remove most of my hair, and lighten it by a dozen shades or so? Should I give him a quick call? A text of warning? Just show him, and hope he thinks I'm still adorable? I was starting to feel sick.
This, folks, is the nightmare I had last night. Whew. As much as I'd like to try a new hairstyle, I was relieved to wake up, and realize I have a chance to ponder what I'd like to do, and talk about the possibilities with my husband.
This is my life when I try to grow my hair out; I battle with my hair to behave every morning, and leave myself open to scenes of nightmarish proportions when I fall asleep.
They say a change is as good as a vacation, and I suppose I've been craving a change of scenery, at least as far as my mirror image is concerned. I love my hair when it's shorter, but I have never dared to go as short as I could. Unless you count that one time I was in college, and thought I'd save myself some money by dropping in at the local beauty college. What a disaster.
Every time that poor hair technician checked to make sure both sides of my hair were even, she realized one side was shorter, so she would lop off a bit more from the other side. She would recheck, cut off a little more from the OTHER longer side, and repeat. By the time she was done, my hair was less than two inches long at its longest point. And I was near tears. I had gone in for a TRIM, people, and basically came out with a crew cut. I realize I can't judge every student in beautician's school by that poor girl, but I just could never bring myself to try another beauty school haircut.
|Thank you, Lisa, for making my hair more stylish.|
When that horrendous haircut finally grew out, my roommate Lisa cut it into a boyish wedge, which I loved.
While you may think I live a charmed life, having great hair is not one of the blessings I've enjoyed. I came into this world with baby-fine blondish hair that could only be styled with LOTS of hair products (remember Dippity-Do and Aqua Net?) or processing my hair with a perm or color.
As I grew older, I dreamed of having waist-length hair, or even better, hair that grew past my butt, just like Cindy Bryant's in my sixth grade homeroom. But alas, my hair never made it that far because it was overtaken with split ends and nasty snarls. As a result, I've worn my hair in some sort of bob most of my life.
When I met Chuck, I had an asymmetrical hair cut. And he seemed
to really like it. I loved it, too, but after we got married, I told him I was ready for something different, something that reflected how balanced my life felt since we had met, and I asked Syndi to even up the sides. It felt pretty liberating. For awhile. Now, it just feels boring.
|Buh-bye, uneven sides.|
Hello, short hair.
The growing out began in earnest.
My hair is finally getting longer. By longer, I mean it almost touches my collar, and the side that was über-short has now grown down to my jawline, matching the other side. I think I am finally ready for something something different.
It's 2016. New year; new me. Maybe blonder hair. Maybe shorter hair. It might be a good idea to run these thoughts by Chuck, though, before I make an appointment at the salon; whaddaya think?