I got my "hair did," as our young black foster child used to say. Here's what my hairdresser chopped off, ready to be stuffed in an envelope addressed to Locks of Love, or possibly Pantene's Beautiful Lengths program:
It's 10 inches long, and thick like a horse's tail. I found myself fighting the urge to swish flies off my own back. After my hairdresser had macheted the ponytail, my head felt 20 pounds lighter. Then he spent another 40 minutes cutting and snipping and measuring and re-snipping, until I thought I'd accidentally asked him to give me the Sinead O'Connor--but, no, I actually had hair left, just barely long enough to brush my shoulder.
Then I sat for highlights, and the customer in the chair next to me admired my thick, blunt-cut locks. Now if only my chins could stop trying to take over my neck and chest, I'd be all hot and smokin', at least from the shoulders on up.
I've been going to the same hairdresser for about 17 years. I've had my hair long, medium-length, butch, permed, straight-ironed, naturally wavy, layered, bobbed, and highlighted. I've had the Farrah Fawcett, the Katie Couric, the Jennifer Aniston, the Beyonce, the Matt LeBlanc, and the cute young professor on Numbers.
And now, here's what my New Hair looks like:
I am fully aware that I am not the most photogenic person in the world, and I tried my hardest to take a picture that would not frighten off Green Room readers left and right. Mr. Peevie walked in on me while I was flirting with the camera, looking back over my shoulder and flipping my flippy new do like America's Next Top Loser. He just looked at me.
"What?" I said, a trifle defensively. "I'm just trying to take a cute picture of my new hairdo, but I'm not the most photogenic person in the world."
"Ah," he said, and then he added helpfully, "Do you want me to take the photograph from the back?"
And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, wins the prize for The. Most. Awesome. Inadvertent. Insult. Ever.
There was a giant pause while I tried in vain to remember why I married this man.
"Yes," I said. "Please do. Please take a photo of the back of my head. And be sure to not get any of my hideous face in the shot. Yes, yes, great idea. Just the back. Thanks."
Whatever. I totally feel like a new woman, ready to take on the world with my flippy new 'do.