The first time I got this hairdo I was 13, the age my daughter is now. I offered her a trip to the salon, but she wasn't interested. I wasn't offered a trip to the salon, my family felt that cutting my hair would be a travesty sincerely repented. They were right.
I should have known better when the greater majority of my beautician's clients were my grandmother's age. The thing that nobody expected was that a perm would make my exceptionally thick hair stand up. In a small school where punk was banned I was an accidental bad ass. Fortunately, my class was the kind that could overlook a couple of bad hair years. (Don't ask for the full arsenal--one of my highschool hairdos was lovingly called my chemotherapy wig.)
So what am I doing recreating the nightmare of my adolescence? Every so often I get sick of hair. If I were braver I'd be bald. If it's been long enough from a Polish Punker moment I say chop it off short, and here I am. I'd give a lot to have low maintence short hair, but keeping my hair short requires a trip to the salon every other week and who has the time? I'll just have to content myself with my regular bob. Yawn.
No comments:
Post a Comment