Scissor, Sister
All I want out of life is money, fame, and a hair dresser capable of turning my unmanageable locks into the most happening of styles.
I slept in this morning (When don't I?), which meant less prep time in front of the mirror.
My hair has reached the length known as 'problem' and I decided to not waste precious minutes applying liquid cement. Forcing the product of my follicles to defy gravity on a daily basis takes time, energy, and a three-way bathroom mirror. Which, thank Homo Depot, I have.
Two steps into the door and I hear praise for the new look from a co-worker. I, of course, not being able to take a compliment at all, laughed it off and murmured something about being late, blah, blah, blah.
Then I got home and the boytoy began brushing his fingers through the 'do.
Now I know what the cat feels like.
Kidding aside, I thought about my 'should I shear it' situation. I have sported the same style for almost ten years.
It started in Chicago. I asked a co-worker who cut his hair. I went to the same barber the entire time I lived in the city.
And made an appointment the morning I moved out of the city.
Then, in Richmond, Virginia, I did the same. I was a repeat customer of a lovely female stylist for four years.
Besides being damn good with scissors, her lavender oil temple rubs and chamomile tea chats kept me going back.
Now I've found an incredible place here in Cleveland. Putting green, beer, and cable television. You can get drunk and play golf while waiting for your highlights to dry. Isn't that right, David?
So even though I'm all set to say goodbye to a few inches of skull fur, I'm loving the attention the longer hair is bringing my way.
There's one thing that bothers me: I have a small stripe of gray. I'm allergic to most hair color products and believe me, the process of testing them isn't pretty.
A stylist once dripped color on my wrist in passing. I immediately wiped it off, but a burn mark surfaced minutes later.
So, I either need to find a new style I can pull off at thirty-eight (cut away the gray), or let it grow for now and face my fear of aging.
Gracefully, of course.
I slept in this morning (When don't I?), which meant less prep time in front of the mirror.
My hair has reached the length known as 'problem' and I decided to not waste precious minutes applying liquid cement. Forcing the product of my follicles to defy gravity on a daily basis takes time, energy, and a three-way bathroom mirror. Which, thank Homo Depot, I have.
Two steps into the door and I hear praise for the new look from a co-worker. I, of course, not being able to take a compliment at all, laughed it off and murmured something about being late, blah, blah, blah.
Then I got home and the boytoy began brushing his fingers through the 'do.
Now I know what the cat feels like.
Kidding aside, I thought about my 'should I shear it' situation. I have sported the same style for almost ten years.
It started in Chicago. I asked a co-worker who cut his hair. I went to the same barber the entire time I lived in the city.
And made an appointment the morning I moved out of the city.
Then, in Richmond, Virginia, I did the same. I was a repeat customer of a lovely female stylist for four years.
Besides being damn good with scissors, her lavender oil temple rubs and chamomile tea chats kept me going back.
Now I've found an incredible place here in Cleveland. Putting green, beer, and cable television. You can get drunk and play golf while waiting for your highlights to dry. Isn't that right, David?
So even though I'm all set to say goodbye to a few inches of skull fur, I'm loving the attention the longer hair is bringing my way.
There's one thing that bothers me: I have a small stripe of gray. I'm allergic to most hair color products and believe me, the process of testing them isn't pretty.
A stylist once dripped color on my wrist in passing. I immediately wiped it off, but a burn mark surfaced minutes later.
So, I either need to find a new style I can pull off at thirty-eight (cut away the gray), or let it grow for now and face my fear of aging.
Gracefully, of course.
gray? you are upset about GRAY??? try THINNING. try balding! OMG it is the single most torturous thing in my life. i once prided myself on my incredibly awesome hair and each day i watch a bit more disappear. forever.
but at least i am not bitter. some good (as in NONE, other than a well placed candle) lighting and i am as youthful as ever. i was blessed with amazing skin.. haven't aged a day past 21 really.
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