It’s been a complicated, challenging year in many ways. It’s almost the anniversary of Snowman’s car accident, and from around that time, other things devolved, and here I am a year later, happy to have a live son but still in the latter stages of grieving our dog, Sam, and wondering how thing turned out the way they did, and learning to live with my new old dog and my new old name, too.
To make things worse, I was having a Bad Hair Year. There may have been days or evenings here and there where my hair was reasonably presentable, but I have spent just about the past year growing out the tragic layers of a haircut that was little more than a shag.
It’s my own fault. I encouraged a very nice hairdresser to cut my hair for curls I don’t really have. What I really have is waves, waves that occasionally, under the right combination of humidity and barometric pressure, do curl. Somehow she coaxed them to life, every time I saw her, and for the “do” she created, the layers worked. But at home, under my less accomplished hands, it became a shag. A shag!!! I didn’t even have one of those when they were popular. How demoralizing to have one 35 years after they were sort of fashionable!
For the past year, almost, I’ve been living through growing out the layers. And today, after a heart to heart with my new hairdresser, I gave the order to cut over 2 inches and make those tired ends go away. It’s already starting to do its own thing, including waving in places where my new hairdresser made it smooth.
I’m a hair-changer. I don’t know if I’ll keep it this short. But I’m hopeful I’ll keep from doing anything too radical. My hairdresser could tell you, there was a time last fall I came in and discussed cutting it super-short and/or dying it red. (She could also tell you she doesn’t do that kind of thing without sending a client home to sleep on it. Smart woman.) It seems like I’ve passed the danger zone of emotional hair choices; I believe this will be a Good Hair Year.