When Hair Attacks

I couldn't find a pic
of a red haired pig in mud.
But here's a red head with a
pig near mud. And, it's awesome.

I’m gonna take a break from my Lent posts. There’s nothing going on with me there really anyway. Still not eating processed sugar stuff outside of the unavoidables like ketchup. Yes, ketchup is unavoidable. I’m still irritated about not having it and still want it however not quite so much. Wait. That’s not true. I do want it. But, dealing with not being able not to have what I want is getting easier. Ok, now I’m laughing to myself because that’s not true either. I want it. I’m not eating it. Except on Sunday wherein I lay into it like a pig in mud

But, as I said, this won’t be about Lent. (Do you capitalize that word? I haven’t looked that up and just to keep this real, I won’t. Feel free to correct me if you would like. Totally don’t care.) This post is about (drum roll) my hair. Yeah, super important stuff.

About seven years ago I went to get a hair cut. The stylist asked how I wear it on a daily basis. I said, ponytail. The classic ponytail has always been my go-to as I’ve had hair past my shoulders since my high school freshman year. I was always involved in a sport and lived in NW Florida which is just slightly more humid that a pressure cooker. I wore my hair in a pony tail so much, I had a ring of sun bleached highlights that went around the perimeter of my head and the middle was darker.

So, back to the stylist. He asked why I wore it in a ponytail. I told him I had twin babies and it was easier. And he said, “girl, why don’t you just cut it short?” Then he pulled it back and said, “you’ve got the face. You could totally pull it off. Let’s make you a super hot, rockin’ mom.” How could I turn down that offer? Um, yes please, and throw in whatever highlights that will make my thighs not look as though I pull sleds for a living! 

Pull it off.

That has been the key phrase for a long time now. A short hair cut isn’t just something you get. It’s something you have to “pull off.” I can’t tell you how many women have admired my hair with a sort of awe and said they just couldn’t pull it off. It’s not a face tattoo, people! It’s a hair cut. What do you think is going to happen if you cut your hair short? Your face will completely morph into another, heretofore unseen, horrific pig-nosed bat/human amalgamation? (Fact: pig-

nosed bats are about the worst looking things ever. Also, bats are about the worst looking things ever. See my post My Red Roots.) It’s hair. It will grow. And grow, and grow…

There’s a ton of bonuses to short hair. Not the least of which, it takes basically no time to fix. In fact, less is more. Messy sometimes looks pretty cool which is a good thing because when you have short hair and sleep like I do (I flail like a salmon in a bear’s mouth) it looks crazy when you wake up. Like maybe you sneezed out of your scalp. 

Here’s another plus: not sure why, but there’s just something about a short hair cut that draws the attention of men. You’d think guys would be into long hair but I’m telling you, that ain’t the case. (I’m married so it’s kinda pointless but it still feels nice.) Grant it, the demographic that has noticed me more since my short cut wears sensible shoes with their high waisted jeans. It’s become such the norm that whenever I tell my husband I got hit on at the grocery story, he automatically says, “was he riding a really nice scooter?” (Then he holds the cat up in front of himself because he knows I won’t stab her.)

This is our cat, Dottie. She hates us. If I stabbed her
I'm pretty sure she'd spew acid.

But, you know what, I take those Kennedy era compliments with pride Those guys are wearing bifocals after all, so they clearly see the lines around my eyes and still think I’m “the bees knees!” Rock on silver foxes.

Oh! And, speaking of silver, coloring your hair is a breeze. You can change it up and often because you don’t have to worry about it getting damaged. You cut it so often, it stays fresh. And, you can do most color jobs yourself. So, you can appreciate the graces of those silver foxes without necessarily being one. No need to schlep to the stylist for a dye.

There is one caveat however. You will still be schlepping to the stylist and often. (Just not for color.) Short hair requires being cut in order to stay short. You can’t just stick it back in the little holes. You can count on a cut every four weeks. And, if you miss that appointment, you end up in my current situation… 

My name is Carla, and it has been eight weeks since my last hair cut. And, I look like a truffula tree.

It’s driving me cuhrazy! I don’t have a lot of hair but what I have is absolutely teaming with life.
And it falling in my eyes makes he throw my head around like a dog with ear mites. I’m going to have to wear one of those cones of shame to keep myself from pulling it out.

So, why haven’t I gotten it cut? ‘Cause the gal who cuts it, Lindsey, is 20 minutes away - with good traffic. (That’s 40 min round trip for you non-math types + cut time + my going into Trader Joe’s ‘cause it’s like, right there!) She’s the ONLY one that has cut my hair (almost) since I’ve gone the way of the pixie. (That’s what my cut is called.) I don’t trust anyone else. Yes, it looks like the same hair cut my son has but it isn’t and I found that out the hard way. When my stylist was on maternity leave, I went to another gal ONE TIME who left me looking gender confused. In her defense, that’s easy to do as I am curvy as a rolling pin.

To add to my misery, everybody seems excited that I look to be growing my hair out. I mean, really excited. These are the same people that complimented me when it was short, mind you, and I’m starting to wonder if they were lying to me about how good it looked. I’m wondering if all this time they’ve been walking next to me with an apologetic look on their face. I tell them all not to get excited. I will cut it. At some point. Although, if I were to let it grow out, this would be a good time. I’m well on my way. (My husband doesn’t care either way as long as I don’t complain about it. He is NO help.)

I have no idea when I will be able to get to the stylist never mind when she will have an open appointment. We’re pals at this point, though, so I’m sure she’d figure it out. I’ve followed her to three locations and she was kind enough to even come to my house and help me out when an at-home hair coloring kit left me looking radioactive.

I don’t think I can do it this week. But, I will try. I’ve already trimmed my bangs myself with only functional results. Also, it’s starting to get a mullet shape to it which actually makes me want to embrace it as mullets are miraculous wonders, like unicorns. Something has to happen though and soon. I will keep you all updated as I am sure you are all salivating with anticipation. Until then, here’s to silver foxes, cones of shame and this glorious display of mullet. Look upon it and be healed...