I get a haircut maybe twice a year, more likely once a year. It grows very slowly, and I like it to be long enough when I *do* get it cut that I have style options.
What generally happens, is that it gets long enough that I can pull it back in a band and a (sad, thin) ponytail, then I wake up one morning knowing that if I don’t get it cut THAT DAY I will cut it myself, and that never works out well.
Today was that day. At noon I reached critical mass, and called Sherry, begging an audience. “3:30” she said. And so it was.
Terry gets very nervous when I announce the haircut is imminent. For some reason, he has it in his masculine mind that I am going to get my head shaved. I have never shaved my head. I have never even had it cut CLOSE to as short as his is. And yet, he starts to pace and say things like “I’m going to call Sherry and tell her how I want her to cut it” and “you know I don’t want you to have it shorter than mine”. As if I ever have.
What I find interesting is how my hair has changed over the years. It used to be platinum blonde and absolutely straight. When I started having children, it got darker, and Lady Clairol and I did our best to hide that. Then, about 7 years ago I became tired of the battle and quit coloring it, and discovered there was actually quite a bit of silver in there. Not grey,but a metallic silver…Cool! It also started curling, and now when I wear it short, it’s quite wavy/curly, and I love that! I can just sort of fluff it up when it’s wet, and leave it alone to dry in these crazy wavy curl things that look like…I don’t know….wavy curl things.
And now it is out of my face and off my neck and feels cool and wonderful and I don’t have to do ANYTHING to it!