At one point in my life, my hairdresser told me I shouldn’t keep scissors in my house. She had witnessed my impulsive ways too many times. She could not always rescue me from my self-inflicted haircuts. I just cannot help myself when I’m feeling the itch to try something new. It’s almost instantaneous. Maybe I should get layers? *10 seconds later standing in the bathroom mirror with a yeti-looking pile of hair in the sink* That’s me. I cannot be stopped.
Yesterday it happened again. Was it because it was my 40th birthday and that should feel as traumatic as the college breakup that caused me to take the sword in my hand and go from long, flowing seductress hair to “mom in the suburbs” (my kind friends’ words)? Nah, I didn’t really care that much about 40. Was it one of those moments where you’re certain you could change the world if you only just had the balls to cut your hair shorter? Nah, not this time at least. It was actually three pictures on my camera. I thought to myself, why does my forehead look so big in every pict…*instantaneously* I SHOULD GET BANGS AGAIN I NEED BANGS RIGHT NOW WHERE ARE THE SCISSORS OMG. This time, I really tried to call my hairdresser first. I tried! 3 weeks for an appointment? Bah! No way! Forget you, professional! I will attempt your job that took years upon years of study and practice with sharp objects and I WILL SUCCEED RIGHT HERE IN MY DIMLY LIT BATHROOM. RIGHT. NOW.
Bangs. Lots of bangs I tell ya. Copious bangs. Maybe too much. Too late now.
I may be 40, and those silvers popping out cannot be denied, but I’m still totally a naive teenager that can’t control herself. I might be a grown up but some things can’t be grown out of. This didn’t turn out that horribly (this time), but luckily, haircuts are one thing that can be grown.