I've been thinking about going short since I was pregnant. Except everyone always told me, DON'T CUT YOUR HAIR WHILE PREGNANT, like it's a cardinal rule of protecting yourself against horrible hormonal decisions. As understandable as that is, it scared me out of getting my hair cut until now.
I didn't want to cave into the Mommy Haircut. The Housewife 'Do. I wanted to retain my youth and freedom in my long hair. Except it wasn't very liberating, and it started looking dowdy to boot. And still I was scared. Of the whole Mommy Look. I mean, it's a slippery slope, right? One day I have short hair, and the next I'll have to start wearing sensible shoes and high-wasted jeans to hide my muffin top.
But I've been talking about it for so long, my Bubba strongly encouraged me to make an appointment for Saturday saying he'd spend the morning with the monster Lucy. I didn't need much more push than that. My hair has started looking ratty, and an hour having someone scrub my head and feed me tea without a monkey crawling all over me? Um, ok.
And another plus? I was planning on cutting a helluva lotta hair off my head - hair that I could donate to Locks of Love! Bonus.
But who to call for an appointment? I don't get my hair cut often. Every time I get a new style, I think, "THIS time I'm going to maintain it every couple months. THIS time will be different." Except it never is. I go once or twice a year depending on how horrible I look, and I always ask for a cut that will look normal as it grows out. I have been to a different stylist almost every time I've gotten my hair cut in Seattle. The one time I went steady with a stylist, I had to break up with her because she was just too SAFE. She cut my hair the same way every time no matter what I asked for. I wanted some adventure, someone to tell me new and fun ways to style my hair.
I've been looking for my stylist soul-mate ever since. It's a lot of pressure. So many first dates. My list of Things To Look For In A Stylist isn't too long, but I must have some high standards seeing as how I haven't found anyone special.
And then there was Cameron. I walked into yet another new salon and made an appointment with Whomever, and they set me up with a girl I'm willing to see again. She was chatty, but not too chatty, listened to my complaints about my ex-stylists, told me that we could move past all that. And then she told me what she thought would look nice with my features.
The funny part about this new 'do is that I feel sexier in it than in the long hair I clung to for so long. Twelve inches of hair is on its way to Locks of Love, and I think I found a stylist I can be faithful to.
Win, win, aaaaaaand win.