I’ll never be Lady Godiva



I’ll never be Lady Godiva

I got my hair cut this week.

No, there will be no photos either of before or after. I think native cultures have the right of it… cameras steal your soul and add 20 40 pounds to your ass and makes your stomach pooch out in oddly bulbous ways. So, no photos.

Didn’t have the stylist do much different. I haven’t done anything about my paint spot since February and have been letting all the old layers grow out. Back in May, my hair was passed my shoulders, but I was frustrated and had several inches clipped off. I’m very tempted to have it all cut off.

When Hubs and I were dating and in the first few years of wedded bliss my hair was very long, maybe the middle of my back long. Then one day I had an itch.. came home with short hair, boy short. Short as in all I had to do in the morning was towel dry it, put a little glob of goo in it, fluff it with my fingers and I was good to go.

There was no worries about blow drying it, adding multiple styling products, no curling or ironing or crimping. There was no need for round brushes, vented brushes, no large tooth combs or picks. I didn’t have to perm it, color it, or highlight it. Took five minutes, tops, to fix it.

Hubs was not happy. He liked it long. Still does. I was in heaven, loved it, still do.

I like the ease of short hair, the freedom to just wash and go. But now, a few more years older, a lot few pounds heavier, I fret about cutting it short. I worry that very short hair will make me look, well…. too much like Hubs. Sometimes short hair on older women isn’t nearly as cute as it was when they were young women. If it looks bad, it will take a very long time to grow out.

Now, I have three different conditioners to fight the neverending battle with frizzies and split ends. I have detanglers, smoothers, glaze, gel, mousse, and hair spray to keep it in place once I get it where I want it. I have clips, elastic bands, head bands and bobbie pins. I have rollers, straighteners, and curling irons. Still, by the time I get to work and inside my office, it looks like Pollo has been running across my head.

Way more work that the end product is worth. A part of me keeps it long-ish because I know Hubs likes it. Another part wants to cut if all off, but is too worried about how bad it will look. Here lately though I’ve been getting my hair cut a tiny bit shorter each time I go to the stylist. I’m hoping no one really notices, until it’s all boy short again.

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