I’m a dork. Full blown helmet head.
I went to the hair salon yesterday… an appointment for a trim. I made it clear to Robyn, my beautician for the last six years, that I wanted a trim, just some off the back and a little off the top to make it a bit more fluffy. With full confidence in her ability to understand English and my plee not to turn me into a little boy or dweeb, I closed my eyes and relaxed into the chair.
Twenty minutes later when I opened them there I was. Dork. Helmet head. Dweeb. Dinkola. AAAAWWWWRRRRRR!!!!! When the hair is gone what do you do? Hide. My shame is total. I will have to wear a hat to work. No words can explain…. all I want to do is scream.
My sister keeps telling me that beauty comes from within and that I should be happy it isn’t any worse. She’s trying to be kind.
And don’t wonder at my keeping my eyes closed during the event… I had to take my glasses off, and am blind without them, so resting my eyes was just a welcome option. But nevah… I mean NEVAH again will I let this woman cut again. Color yes. She’s good at color. But cut? She has long beautiful blonde tresses… maybe I should be the one carrying the shears next time.
I know hair is not the most important thing in the world when you think of starving people, crime in the streets and oil spreading all over pristine beaches along the Pensacola Florida coast… but it’s important to me. And I’m going to be having a bad hair day for the next three weeks. AAAAAWWWWWWWWWWHHHHHRRRRGGGGGG.