Hair today, gone...later that day
Thursday, October 6, 2011
I said I was never going to do it again.
And can you blame me?
After that catastrophe, I vowed to never cut my hair again. It might result in me perennially wearing nothing but long nightgowns and traveling exclusively in the company of cats, but I would just pin that shit up, and when the time was right, let down those curls and exult in the thrill of long, sexy hair.
But then I had the baby, and the Great Shed of 2011 began in earnest. I started looking less fertility goddess and more Jenna Maroney on a windy day. My hair was falling out in gobs, and Declan got into the spirit, doing his part to rip out a few strands every time he could grab a fistful. Every day was a bad hair day, even if I had the blessing of time to wash and dry and style it.
I was tired of the greasy ponytail, the horrible breakage, looking like a haystack with limbs.
So I did it.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I cut it off.
If hair doesn't have nerve endings, why does it hurt so bad?