Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

2 years.  Well, it's taken me nearly 2 years attempting to become that future version of myself.  A middle-aged woman (gasp! 48 years old now) whose hair blows in the wind on a breezy day with a bathroom closet full of hair accessories that allow for sassy styling depending on how I think I'll feel that morning.  In reality, I never realized that it hurts like hell when your hair pokes you painfully in the eyeballs as the wind whips up around your face. (Thanks Lasik surgery!  Before you, I never realized my prescription glasses were actually meant for vision improvement AND eye protection.)  And that closet full of hair accessories?  Who am I kidding - I never knew what the hell I was doing with any of those gels, mousses and fancy argan oils.

I'm not fancy.

I'm meant to have short, no fuss hair that doesn't piss me off every morning if I don't hold my Dyson hair dryer at just the right angle when applying the blow.

I'm not meant to wear headbands to keep my floppy mop under control while secretly thinking that everyone who comes across my pie-hole chubby face is wondering if I actually thought that was a good look for me.  It wasn't.

Sure, I certainly liked the experience of being in the shower and pouring a shit-ton of fragrant shampoo into my hair and feeling like a secret Pantene model. It was fun bending forward under the shower head and gripping all that thick hair to squeeze out the excess water before exiting the shower.

But you know what wasn't fun?  Spending 10-15 long agonizing minutes in front of the bathroom mirror every morning trying to style my hair.  9 times out of 10 were bad hair days. And each time I walked away disappointed with what I'd done up there, I'd talk myself out of cutting off all my hair because I knew I was just going through that awful growing-out stage.

A few years ago, I had to replace the roof on my house.  While I was in the process of learning all of the particulars related to roof size, pitch, nails and layers of shingles, I found myself looking at other people's roofs and forming an unprofessional opinion on whether they should replace their roof. When I decided to let my hair grow, I found myself doing the same thing but with other people's hair. I'd find myself looking at coworkers with long hair and wondering about the process. How did they survive their own bad hair days? How did they break through to the other side of beauty?

It probably took me a couple of weeks of festering to realize I was never going to get there despite encouragement from my friends that my hair was looking good during the growing-out phase. I knew my decision was made when I started searching for pixie cuts on Pinterest.  I searched "Hair styles+Fat faces" and came up with so many hits related to Paula Deen, Kelly Clarkson, America Ferrera and Kelly Osbourne. Dear God. Really?

In the end, I sent an emergency Facebook message to my hair stylist Mille at Salon de la Rosa  that read as follows: "Hi Millie, I am in desperate need of your services. Can we schedule an evening for a color/style of this flop mop that's atop my head?"  She scheduled me for an appointment and last Wednesday I freaking chopped it all off.

After the chop fest, I shly asked Millie if I could take my hair home with me. We swept it off the floor and put it into a plastic Stop & Shop bag.  My plan, thank you again Pinterest, is to put all that shorn hair outside so my backyard birds can use it to make their Spring nests. Although at the end of my hair appointment,  I was thinking carrying around a bag of hair was kind of creepy. Like, imagine if I got into a horrific fatal car accident on my way home and the paramedics had to go through my purse to find information in my wallet related to my next of kin. They open my purse and find that bag of hair.

I LOVE my new hairstyle. Strangely, I'm not too disappointed that my little beauty experiment didn't work out and I'm done hopelessly pining after the fantasy of being a woman with long, thick color-treated hair.  It's just not me.  What I am is a simple woman who wants to spend as little time in the mirror as possible each morning fussing over hair.  Because after all, what really is hair?

"Human hair is a simple thing made of keratin and dead skin cells. Its function is to prevent heat loss from a person’s head, yet it also causes women to weep, men to buy Porsches and people to spend billions each year on its upkeep." 
quote courtesy of Ryan McKee 

I've got just enough to keep this old noggin warm and that's fine by me.

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