Saga of the Hair: Part 1

So.

I have long hair.

More specifically, I have long, thick, wavy blonde hair that is an obvious inheritance from my hairy Viking ancestors. 

 I am very proud of my hair. It is one of the few things about myself that I consider to actually be pretty, and that I don’t mind showing off.  I think everyone has that – a sort of vanity that they can’t suppress. I think it’s healthy, to have something like that. As long as you don’t go overboard and brag about it to everyone you meet and hold parties in its honor, it’s healthy. Somewhat.

So, why am I now being a hypocrite and talking about my amazingly luscious and beautiful golden locks?

Well, there’s something a story to that. Not much of one, but still.

I recently witnessed two of my roommates dyeing purplish-red streaks into their hair. They tried to get me to do it, too, but I cheerfully declined. “I’m sorry,” I said, “But I kind of decided that I am never going to dye or cut my hair ever again.” With looks of astonishment, they said, “Seriously? You’re never cutting your hair again?”

“Um….Well, I mean, unless I suddenly develop dreadlocks or something, yeah,” I answered.

They looked thoughtful, and then continued with their hair dyeing.

And I suddenly started thinking about my hair.

Now, as much as I’ve bragged about it in this post, I really don’t think about or do much with my hair at all. The fanciest thing I ever did with it was get it braided in a fancy Celtic style at a booth at the Celtic Festival that my hometown holds every year (think ‘Renaissance Faire’, but with more claymores and kilts and bagpipes and dancing. It’s kind of the most awesome thing ever.) I think that’s actually the only time I felt comfortable being girly, with my big medieval-era dress and my hair all prettied up with braids and ribbons and little flower buds……

Yeah, I think it was then that I decided that that was how I wanted to look when I got married.

But that’s beside the point.

What I mean to say is, I didn’t really think about my hair until that moment. And it didn’t occur to me that I maybe I wanted to do something different with my hair until that moment. Like, you know how you tell your mom you like something, and only a little afterwards discover you don’t actually like it anymore? Well, something like that.

So, the long and short of it is……I have decided to get my hair cut.

Yeah, kind of sudden.

But quite honestly, I think it’s important.

Why?

Well, because I’ve looked almost the exact same way since I was 13.

And for an almost-20 year old….well, that’s kind of sobering.

And also because I need - NEED - to know how it looks short. Properly short. Actually styled and all. Just to see if I like it. See if it works. 

Also, up until I stopped having it cut, my mother took responsibility for all of the hair-cutting in our household. I think I went to a salon maybe once.

My mother takes our hair very seriously.

Okay, I will admit that my mother isn’t bad at cutting hair. Years of practice from cutting my dad’s and my siblings’ hair, she has a developed a brisk, practical sort of technique. For years and years, my mother stuck to the same haircut when she cut mine and my little sister’s hair: chin-length with bangs. It didn’t really matter to me when I was a little kid. So long as the hair was out of my face and didn’t hinder my tomboy activities, I was fine. It wasn’t until I was older and far more uncomfortably aware of myself that I looked in the mirror and thought, I hate this haircut. It was definitely time for something new, and I figured I was old enough to decide what my hair should look like.

Also, the bangs gave me horrible forehead acne, so I had a medical excuse.

So, my mother allowed me to grow out my hair, and I haven’t cut it ever since. And let me tell you, it’s kind of one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. Seriously.

 The biggest change I have made to it since then was bleaching streaks into it that one time when my older brother was going through a bleach phase. BHe had extra. I said “Okay, let’s try it.” And there you go. It’s been about six years since then, and the streaks are now long gone. So….not really a big change at all, I guess.

Now, I feel the time has come for another change. But a big one, this time.

So….I am going to CUT MY HAIR. This Saturday. 

It's happening, man. 

I wonder how it'll all pan out.

It's probably already beginning to plot its revenge.