Yesterday I dropped the pirates at my mom's whilst I ran a couple errands. I picked up some dry cleaning. I decided against a store-bought cake. I purchased balloons. And then I thought- why not get a trim? I parked our auto and walked inside. I sat down, made small talk, and then paid someone eleven dollars to CHOP. MY. HAIR. It all happened so fast. The eleven dollars should have been a clue- but I've paid less than that at the same salon and been pleased with the results. Perhaps it was the small talk. Perhaps Madam Hairstylist forgot the inches she was supposed to cut and rounded, instead, to the nearest six.
Six. SIX WHOLE INCHES.
I had only asked for three.
I died.
It reminded me of a time I cut my brother's hair, as the barber later stated, "Right to the quick!" Or the time my best friend asked me to help trim her ends, and I did. But then I had to even them out... which led to having to even them out again... and by the time everything was even I'd removed four (or more) inches. I still remember trying to convince her everything was okay.
Which is what I asked Steve to do yesterday evening. "Steve" I said, "Will you still love me even though I look like a boy with an atrocious 'do'?" He responded he would. I asked him seventeen more times to make sure he meant what he was saying and then I went back to the mirror for another look at the damage. I popped back out to ask again- and when he failed to look up I reminded him I was in the middle of a National Emergency. Or a panic attack. Or on the verge of a hypothetical cliff.
As I retreated I heard him mutter something about "just hair" and "growing out."
I laughed. At myself. At my hairdo. And at the non-seriousness of the situation. Because it's not serious at all... but I still get sick to my stomach while I laugh at my reflection. I've been de-maned and am currently revisiting the nineties.
...I'm pretty sure you cut my hair once and I loved it. Did I dream that? I think the hard thing about a bad haircut is that it all happens so fast. and without your permission. And even though it does grow out, it takes a slightly longer time than, say, a bad manicure? But darn it, girl, if you don't look cute all the time. Like it you suddenly decided to wear only paper bags and never shower again, I promise no one would notice and would continue to compliment you on your stunning sense of style. You're that adorable.
ReplyDeleteYou're really far too kind. I think you might have dreamt it... because the only one I remember was where I fixed you up REAL GOOD... :) Perhaps you've blocked it out. If so... ALL. THE. BETTER.
DeleteI'll block out this hair cut as well. :)
I am sure you look great! I want to see some pictures!
ReplyDeleteI'm sure you look great! I can relate, though. I had gone in to get my hair TRIMMED...my exact words a LONG bob. I should have never said "bob." 11 inches later, I walked out holding back the tears. Ya, I know it's only hair and it will grow back, but it takes so long to grow and in the mean time I look hideous. With my fat face, I don't do short hair very well at all...
ReplyDeleteOh my. Eleven inches. Times like that I wish there was some sort of retribution. I swear. Trims can be downright DANGEROUS!
DeleteHaha! You are the cutest. I did the same thing right after I had my kid, and sadly, I did it on purpose and I was still sad for months... It does feel like a crisis though!
ReplyDeleteIt seriously does. And the only thing I can do is laugh at my own self! :)
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