Bad Hair Day

I have been letting my hair grow, just because I have never worn it long. My mother insisted on keeping it very short, and every time it grew past my ear lobes, she'd have it cut. I swore that when I grew up, I'd let it grow long enough to sit on. But, with one thing and another, it always seemed more practical to keep it relatively short.

I didn't have anything better to do during the summer and, knowing that I am not getting any younger, I realized that if I wanted to have long, long hair, I'd better "git-er-done". It was now or never. So, I set out to see how long I could let it get before I ran screaming to my hairdresser and begged him to "Cut it off! Cut it all off!"

As it grew I learned some things. 1. My hair grows very fast. After about four months, it hung past my shoulders. 2. I didn't have a clue what to do with it. 3. Long hair sheds. A lot.

So, when I finally got to the beauty shop, my hairdresser nearly fainted. It must have rattled him pretty badly, because, sad to say, he gave me a very bad hair cut.

He started out telling me he had been having trouble breathing, and then proceeded to talk non-stop all through the shampooing, cutting and drying. He kept leaving, to do other things such as fetching and carrying for the other two hairdressers and answering the phone, all the while jabbering away. After going to him for 20+ years, I knew that he was easily distracted, so I wasn't surprised. However, I did wish he would stop looking at me in surprise as though he had forgotten I was there when he finally came back to his station, and asking me how he had cut my hair when it was short, as though I hadn't darkened his door in decades, instead of just a few short months.

I went home looking like someone had plopped a bowl on my head and cut around it, but at least it's short again. And, I can predict that when I go back in about six weeks, he's going to look appalled and ask, "Who cut your hair?"

Stay tuned.