The Haircut

I got a haircut today and waited about fifteen minutes before starting to stress out about it  It wasn’t a bad haircut, but it wasn’t what I wanted and all of a sudden 70% of my deep insecurities started to hit the surface.

I wanted the haircut I had a few months ago, before I waited too long in between trims and my hair grew into a vague, longish, scraggly mess.  My mom, who very kindly went with me today, informed me that I didn’t give enough information to the stylist, but I’m never sure what to say beyond showing the length I’m looking for and mentioning layers.  It really doesn’t seem polite to say, “I’d like layers, but I don’t want to look like I’m 43 and it’s 1996.” 

My hair appeared to be fine in the chair, but it usually does.  It’s always in the car mirror that I start second guessing.  My mom was supportive in that she told me I could either go right back to the salon or I could stop talking about it.  It was pretty clear that she maxed out on post-haircut meltdowns after getting two daughters through middle and high school and she just wasn’t putting up with that shit ever again. 

I spent most of the afternoon close to tears, not crying only because I never had enough privacy to cry and crying about a decent haircut in front of your children is a bit much.  All I could think about was that the stylist gave me the haircut for the person she saw, which was evidently a frumpy, boring mother of two who doesn’t mind looking old.  It just built and built from there – is that how I look to everyone?  Is that what I am now?  Old and boring?

By some miracle I finally realized that I needed to pull myself up by my bootstraps (a phrase I use on Trent ALL.THE.TIME.) and take control of my own life.  As soon as Trent came home I headed out for my second haircut of the day, where I was able  to explain that even though I do drive a minivan and have two kids I don’t want to look like that and I really don’t want my hair curling under.  Wonderful Shonta, who I had previously bonded with over our love of caramel iced coffees, saved the day.

It’s shallow that how your hair looks and feels impacts that kind of day you have, but who is going to argue that it doesn’t make a difference to them?  What is it about hair that can sway a good or bad mood?  Even if I’m going to end up with a sweaty ponytail by 10 AM, I want decent hair going into that ponytail.

So for now all is well, I’m happy with my haircut, the earth continues to spin on it’s axis.  Do you know how much time I wasted today on this?  Two haircuts, worry and distraction, typing up a blog entry when I could be reading or asleep?  It’s ridiculous.  Thank you God that I didn’t have any bigger worries today.