Snip Snap

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So, I did it. I cut off my hair. I realize this isn't a big deal to any of you and, frankly, it's less of a deal to me than I thought it would be. If it was life changing, geez, that would mean I haven't a lot going on in my life other than how I look and that would be ironically sad. You've met me, right? 

But I thought I would tell you how it went because somewhere out there I am just sure that one of you is thinking of making a similar drastic change to your appearance. Intuition. Or something.

Anyway, I called to make an appointment with my stylist, Carly, thinking it would be a month forward that I would have to wait for a weekend appointment. Lucky me, she had an opening THAT Saturday. Saturday, the one coming up? Yes, this Saturday at 9 AM. Um, ok. 

So, I go back through my computer folder of hair photos I have been collecting. What? You don't have a folder like that? Well, you should. I had thirteen photos and one Pages document in there. I look again at the youthful, smiling girl sporting the punkish pixie cut, the demure photo of the model with the barely there bob and the various photos of redheads that I envy for their healthy glow. I then frantically research the web for more photos of Winona Ryder and Michelle Williams and then I save them to my iPad so I can show them to Carly. 

Yes, I brought my iPad to the salon with at least six of those photos on it. Yes, I flipped through them with Carly like she had all the time in the world to do it. Yes, she consoled me, coddled me and asked if I needed a Xanax. No, she does not get paid as much as she should.

The point is, I did my research. If research is the above and asking a few trusted individuals several times if they were SURE I wouldn't be mistaken for a man if I cut off all my hair. And were they SURE I could pull it off. POSITIVE?  And could they handle a little breakdown by me a la Julia Roberts at the salon in Steele Magnolia's if things went south?

In the end, it all came down to what my mother always said to me when I was afraid to do something: What's the worst that can happen? If you can handle that, do it.

So, Carly tells me she gets what I'm going for and starts cutting in the back and gives me this reverse mullet. All the while I am thinking "Hmm, I have no hair back there." And it seems like a small fact. Then she goes to cut the sides. That first glimpse of my head.... Fear shot up through me. And then.... And then.... it went away.

She cut and talked and cut and talked and cut some more. An entire wigs worth of my hair lay on a little towel at her station. There were times I leaned toward it all being a huge mistake. It reminded me of when I first went to Romania and certain moments would be so surreal that I couldn't decide if my decision to be there was awesome or really fecking stupid. Either way, I was proud of myself for taking a chance and relieved that I was NOT where I was before.

Now, I have REALLY short hair. Most women I know do not. I like that. 

As for wether or not I look like a man or if I am successfully pulling of this look - neither one of my kids ran away or cried when they saw me so I'm gonna hold off on that drama while I still can.  Besides, who can do a fauxhawk? Me! And you can bet your cha chas, you'll be seeing it.
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