I haven't cut my hair in about 12 years.
(not on purpose anyways)
My hair is my only real vanity. Well and my nails, but for the purpose of this post it is all about my hair.
As my Bubs (Jewish Grandmother) always said..."A woman's hair is her crowning glory".
(Imagine her saying this with great flair and drama...all Bubbies talk with great flair and drama)
Clearly a bumper is not a woman's crowning glory.
(more on her later)
Traumatized at the tender age of 9; a blind Irish nun thought I was a boy- I decided I would never ever cut my hair again.
And I stuck to it.
What I grew was a poofy 1980's blown out disaster.
If 'Air Supply' was a hair style it was mine.
You know the Pekingese? Sorta like that without the low to the ground waddle.
I thought I was all that.
Then, when I was about 16 I realized that my hair was actually curly.
We're talking spirals.
I flooffed, I flounced, I fluffed.
I hung my head upside down to shake and shimmy every curl into perfect placement.
Great care and execution was taken in hair presentation.
Who has time to flooff, flounce, shake, shimmy or you know...wash hair this long?
My once cascading waterfall of auburn curls has been reduced to a near dreadlocked state....and it's gray.
(%^*#!&$ Irish blood)
So I am cutting it off! Off I say! Off with the hair!
Locks of Love OFF!
But I am freakin' man.
Because, the only times I have attempted so much as a trim I have been butchered by sadistic bottom dwellers.
So I asked my OB, who has very much the same hair type as I do -where she went.
I mean I trusted her with the life of my child so my hair is the next natural progression right?
...and next Saturday...
(the 23rd, not the 16th; as I believe the 16th to be this Saturday therefore making the 23rd the next one...get it? Spouse doesn't, this is an argument we have daily.)
...next Saturday I am going in.
Cut. Color. Style.
And again I say I am FREAKIN'...
Because what I want is this:
But what I fear I am going to end up with is this:
Blind Irish nun indeed.