Vanity, Vanity

I cut off my hair again. This traumatic event occurs about every 5 years, and it's only traumatic for my husband. I introduce the subject of how much I hate my hair and mention that I'd really like to shave it all off. He argues that he LIKES LONG HAIR; I retort that he must like STRINGY, FRIZZY, UNSTYLED LONG HAIR because that's what I have. We go 'round and 'round for several weeks, until I finally wear him down and he mutters, "Fine. Do what you want." I always planned to . . . just needed his blessing.

The five-year interval has never been conscious or planned. Yes, I am a control freak, but I don't sit around scheduling my haircuts five years in advance. In fact, I never even realized I was cutting my hair every 5 years until recently, when I started feeling the need to shave my head again, and began recalling previous coiffes.

My first big chop was in junior high. I visited my very first hair salon ever and asked for the Dorothy Hamill wedge. The next transformation occured when I was 18; I don't remember the details, but I know I removed my long brunette locks because I have a snapshot of me sitting in my dorm room with super short hair grinning like a weirdo college freshman. Then every 4 or 5 years after that, I'd do it again. I had a really cute, spiky style in the 90s that I just loved; I'd dyed my hair black for a part in a play, and I felt very edgy with my slightly goth look.

My last short hair occurred when I was pregnant with the twins, and felt like a cow. A slightly disabled cow. No, make that a small house. I felt like a house had fallen on top of me and two people were still living in it, moving around inside, shaking the entire structure. And no one would let me just lay down and rest with this house on top of me. No, I had to keep walking around and bending over to pick up bags of groceries and pushing the vacuum across the living room floor and driving my daughters to and from school, all with a big ol' house crushing me. Actually, I like the cow analogy better.

I was a big cow with a sore back and aching hooves. And my hair was like a mutated mane of some sort that made me feel hot and exhausted and more cow-ish. So I cut it all off and felt much better.

But it's grown back.

I know it's difficult to notice my hair when you're mesmerized by the slenderness of my hips, but try to focus, people!

I took something like 20 pictures, trying to get my entire head into the frame. I finally gave up. A self-portrait artist I am not. Anyway, here's my short hair, which I would like to remind my husband is not really THAT short. I've had much shorter, so he needs to SHAKE IT OFF.

It'll grow back, sweetheart.



Dinner last night: chicken and garlic pizza

Exactly one year ago:

Memory Replacement Theory

Exactly two years ago:

What a Difference a Day Makes . . .