Snip-Snip

It's amazing how a few scissor snips can change your life - for better or for worse.

On Monday, I realized my hair was badly in need of a trim. So, as soon as Danny came home, I took a trip to Great Clips, where I've gone to get my hair trimmed for about a year. I started going there when they first opened in our town because the prices were insanely low, and they did such a great job, I kept going back. The same girl has cut my hair the last several times I've been there, and she was every bit as good a stylist as the once I used to go to where I paid about three times as much.

I guess I should have known better than to go on a Monday - which generally for me have been disastrous. When I walked in, I noticed that none of the "usual" girls were there, but I didn't sweat it - after all, how much can you really mess up a trim? I got a little nervous as my hair was being cut - the "stylist" seemed to be sort of hacking away at it pretty randomly. And when she finished, I thought some of the layers seemed to be much shorter than they had been. But I reminded myself that normally after a haircut I hate my hair until I have a chance to go home and fix it myself.

It wasn't until I walked into my house and looked at myself in a mirror that I realized the dreadful truth: MY LIFE WAS OVER. I surveyed the damage, decided that I couldn't possibly be seen in public for at least 3 months, and burst into tears. Before my self-destructive trip to the salon, I had long layers all over. Now, the top layer was so short I couldn't even pull it back. And the rest of my hair was beyond description. I looked like I should have been on the set of Beverly Hillbillies. Danny even agreed (much later, when he was no longer afraid to come within 10 feet of me) that it was so bad he thought about offering to cut it himself to try to "fix" it.

The next morning my worst fears were confirmed: there truly was nothing to be done. I tried to forget about my hair and focus on other, more important things like feeding my children. But every time I caught sight of my reflection in the microwave door or a mirror, I started sobbing. I had never been this upset over a haircut, and believe me, I've had some doozies. What made it even worse was that during the past several months I've been losing a lot of hair and I can't figure out why. It's been growing back slowly, creating what looks like breakage all over my head, but I'm still losing it by the brushfull. So all I could do throughout the morning and afternoon was cry, and then realize that vanity and pride were no doubt the reason for all this, which made me cry even harder. I actually resented the sun for shining. Doesn't everyone know it's supposed to rain on days like these?

Anyway. I had pretty much decided that the only option would be to shave my head and wear a bandana until my hair grew out again, when Danny suggested I just go to a better salon and see if they could do anything.

If a few scissor-snips destroyed my life, all it took was a few more to put it right again. I tell you the truth: I was a new person when I walked out the door. I could look people in the eyes and smile, knowing that at least I wasn't offensively ugly anymore. I loved the stylist, who said my hair had been pretty badly chopped up but that she could fix it. And I decided that it was well worth the $27 I paid to fix the mess on my head.

I think I would have freaked out had my hair originally been cut this short. As it is, I'm so happy that if I was pregnant with Karis right now (instead of 18 months ago), I'd name her after the stylist.