I'm not one to look in the mirror all that often. I like to keep my hair long because I can pull it back into a ponytail and not worry about it. I am a prime candidate for "What Not To Wear" because I put very little effort into my appearance. I'm just not a person who puts a lot of thought into how I look.
That's what makes it weird that I have haircut nightmares. Yes, I'm talking about those really bad dreams that occur when one is asleep. Nightmares. I don't often have nightmares, but I do have one recurring one: I wake up one morning to find that my hair has been cut.
In the dream, it's either been cut very short, or I've been given very short bangs. The dream varies little. Generally, I'll remember that I actually let someone do this to my hair. Only I can't remember getting it cut.
I got my hair cut today. I've been wearing it shoulder-length these days, which is much shorter than is normal for me. When I got it cut in Baton Rouge in December, I got very long, slightly layered bangs. I liked them.
So when I went to get it cut today in Asheville, I told my hairdresser, "just trim it so that it's shoulder-length in the back and I have long, slightly layered bangs." She cut the back a little too short, but I didn't worry; it would grow out soon enough. She was cutting the front, and there was one piece of longer hair that kept interfering with the bangs.
"Do you want me to just cut this?" she asked. "Sure, go ahead," I said. Then--snip--the longer hair was gone. The longer bangs were gone. I don't know if I misunderstood her question, or what. But I suddenly had short bangs. And chin-length hair. I hate it.
I didn't hate it immediately. At first, I thought, "I'll get used to it. And it doesn't look bad ... it's just not the haircut I expected." So I went to work out, then came home, then took a shower and dried my hair.
Now I hate it. I have really thin hair, and I last had short bangs when I was about 16. I never get short bangs because (1) in hot weather, they curl and frizz; and (2) in cold weather, they get all staticky and are virtually uncontrollable unless I put a bunch of goop in them.
So I have short bangs now, just in time for my 36th birthday. I tried brushing them to the side but ended up with a feathery thing across my forehead, reminiscent of Donald Trump.
Whenever I wake up from the haircut nightmare, I'm relieved that it was just a dream. Now I'm just kind of depressed. OK, more than kind of depressed. I actually cried over my haircut. I haven't done that since I was a teenager, either.
Hi, Strangers! I've been blogging with my friend Anh over at Then a Gentle Whisper . Check it out!
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