I’ve been contemplating a haircut. (Or as Adam said, “stalking the idea of a haircut.”) Here’s the problem with my hair: I am never satisfied. I can perhaps trace that back to the fact that my aunt Mary is a beautician complete with a salon in her basement. When I was growing up, I would have her cut my hair…and often. She would do whatever I wanted for free. As a consequence I had pretty short hair that slightly changed styles every month or so (you can’t drastically change styles with short hair). I can also maybe trace my dissatisfaction with my tresses to the fact that I’m not really good with hair and never have been.
I decided a while ago that what I REALLY want, in a perfect world, is hair that I have to spend less than 30 seconds on, no money and looks really beautiful all the time.
Is that too much to ask?
Speaking of asking, I’m driving my loved ones crazy. I keep asking Adam about my hair. It’s longer than it’s been in a while. “Do you like it long?” “Should I cut it?” “HOW should I cut it?” “What do you think?”
He really just wants to be left alone. He has no opinion on my hair. In his perfect world, I would not ask him questions about my hair.
Yesterday I was determined to get it cut. Then every few minutes I’d change my mind. Then I’d change it back.
I got really desperate and asked my children. Now Emma should be able, in theory, to have a trustworthy opinion as my fellow female in the house. So far I’m not sure how much stock I’ll put in her ideas. It’s takes a lot of effort for me to get her to comb her hair and she would wear the same ratty thing every day if I let her. (I’m not complaining. I read a magazine article about ‘tween girls being unnaturally sexualized and trying to be “hot”. It seems like a lot of girls Emma’s age are overly concerned about their looks and clothes and trying to be the next Hannah Montana or Jamie Lynn Spears--yikes. I’ll take my girl with the wild hair and equally wild imagination any day.)
I digress. We were talking about my hair…
Emma looked at my hair contemplatively and drew a line on a nearby dry erase board (we were in the school room) and told me I should get that much cut off. That seemed arbitrary and like I said, I don’t trust her all that much.
Next I asked Braeden. He emphatically told me I should NOT get my hair cut. He said, “All girls look better with long hair.” Then he looked at his sister and said, “Sorry Em, but you’re growing your hair long right?”
The three of us traveled to the bathroom mirror (see how desperate/sad this was getting?) and they stood behind me and held my hair up to the level I should get it cut.
Mark became curious and walked into the bathroom and stood in front of me. I looked at him in the mirror and asked him what he thought about my hair.
He shrugged and said, “I like hair.”
In other words, cut your hair, don’t cut your hair. I don’t care.
Right back to where I started.