Bad Hair

For someone who has "good hair" I've had a disproportionate number of "bad hair" days. These are when my tresses get completely out of control and no amount of rewetting, or product will tame them.

Fortunately I forget about my hair other than when I'm confronted with a mirror or a reflective window as I'm walking down the street. My heart sinks as I try to manipulate it with my bare hands. Combing and unsnarling and flattening in several broad strokes. It satisfies me briefly. Until my next bout with my reflection.

I could counter this by dutifully scheduling appointments once a month, or even every other month. But getting myself to the hairdresser is right up there with ERRANDS. My mind resists. My body rebels. My spirit breaks.

It's not that I don't love a new haircut. I just don't know what my haircut is. When I slide into the hairdresser chair and say, "Cut it however you like," I always end up looking like someone else. And when I describe how I like it - or at least the most recent cut that sort of turned out alright as it grew out - well, that never seems quite right either.

And so I go on. Too much hair in search of a head that will appreciate it. A head that's looking for something not too straight, not too curly. Just right. It's not that it can't be straight or curly. I'm just not up for doing battle first thing in the morning. Besides, the hair always wins.

Last week I took revenge. Arriving home late on a particularly bad hair day, I took to my mop with scissors. There was no preparation. There was no wetting, or measuring or combing. I just grabbed at chunks and chopped. Then I took the shaver and gave it one pass up and one pass down. Voila, a new style was born. It's definitely shorter and not completely even. Though, as Kylee, who has stringy straight hair says, "A few curls can hide a multitude of sins."

I may just stick to this dramatic approach. Forget the appointments and pseudo-conversation. Just wait for a stressful day and start hacking. The stress will either fall away with each tumbling lock or I'll finally have something real to stress over.