I chopped my hair off. 12 inches or something. It’s fun and summery and everything else that is considered hip and trendy. Honestly, I’m just trying to be a cool kid and not really sure how well it’s working out. Ha. Actually I’m not even sure what is considered “cool” these days. But here’s the story with the hair….yes, my hair cut has a story.
It’s around noon on a Thursday and I’m itching for a trim. My hair was Rapunzel-ish length and in need of a little TLC. No man would be able to climb up those dead ends if I were to be stuck in a tower. So, as I perused my local paper to find the salon number, I get text from Sholly (Sholly: n. PERSON. –alias: Ashley Clark 1. The coolest sister in law ever. 2. Smart beautiful blonde single bombshell. 3. Crazy shenanigan partner of mine.) stating that she was contemplating hair suicide. What a coincidence! She also had long hair. Hers could probably support a man attempting to climb a tower though. But he’d have to be a pretty dang small man….maybe one of the dwarfs. But then that goes into why would one of the seven dwarfs climb Ashley’s hair…and what the heck is she doing in a tower?! ….back to the original story.
We debated. Settled on a time. And operation “chop off our best physical feature” was a go. Which meant we would have to rely on our awesome personalities from here on out. I intended on a trim. Like at MOST an inch or two, add a few layers, and call it good, and Ashley was going for a full on buzz cut. Ashley’s influence with a little help from Google Images, persuaded me to consider going a little shorter. I was on the fence.
3:00pm rolled around. Ashley’s luscious gold(ie) locks fell to the floor. Mind you, she hasn’t had short hair since like…birth-ish. It had just been growing for the last 19 years. All her hard work was gone. But since it’s not the hair that makes the woman look good, it’s the woman that makes the hair…she turned out beautiful. As expected.
Well, she had to leave to give someone a ride, and left me unsupervised for my turn. So of course I chickened out and only cut like 3 inches off. But I did get my layers. She comes back. Sees my still long hair and is mad. Not like “oh I’m sad we don’t have short hair together” mad…but like “I am seriously ticked right now that you did not chop all your hairs. And now I’m going to be the ONLY person in the WHOLE world with short hair!! What were you thinking!!!!?!! …I! Hate! You!”
She’ll get over it.
I know thought I knew Brent didn’t like short hair, I sent him a picture of Ashley’s and told him I cut mine even short. I’m so nice. His response: “Oh boy..I can’t wait to see it”.
Time change to 5:00pm. We are midst highlighting Sholly’s hair via a handy dandy highlighting cap contraption, and Brent walks in, sees my ever present long hair. Ashley, still in her furious state of mind, proceeds to tell Brent how I’m a chicken butt or some other profanity along those lines. Brent agrees. Wait….WHAT?!? He wants me to cut it shortER. He is covered in soot from work looking like he’s from South of the border and Ashley resembles something seen from a horrible 50’s sy-fy movie.
Off we go to the salon…again…to cut my hair…again…twice in the same flippin’ day. And they get to go looking just. Like. That.
Honestly, how could I refuse an opportunity for public humiliation?!
Hence my short hair. J