Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Trauma for the day

I am getting my hair cut today. This is Stage Four of my hair-trauma cycle.

Stage One: Hope

This stage is initiated when I decide to grow my hair out. At this point I am full of youthful optimism that this time my hair will grow out into wonderful full, bouncy, shiny, full hair, a la Brooke Shields (or, to be honest, Amy Grant).

Stage Two: Denial

A few months pass and the nagging suspicion that once again my hair is growing out but is growing flat, dull and lifeless makes itself known. Reality is quieted by the thought that I just need to give it a little more time. Surly if I give it just a few more weeks I’ll see a miraculous turn-around and one morning I’ll wake up movie star hair.

Stage Three: Clipper

For the next four weeks I will pull my bangs back with a clipper, desperately clinging to the hope that my hair will grow and be pretty. Just a few more days…

Stage Four: Acceptance

Reality sets in and I once again admit I do not have the makings of movie star hair. I have hair that grows out but grows straight with a little wave here and there that won’t hold a wave everywhere.

So I’m going in for a major cut today. I showed Sean some pictures and by now he knows the drill: “That's fine, honey. Just don’t shave it.” Because that is what I threaten to do at this point. I honestly have a mind to walk in and say, “Sinead O’Conner, please.”

Stage One resumes in about four weeks.