OK, let me preface this by saying that I might be just a little bit nuts.  Maybe more than just a little bit.  Maybe a lot.  Maybe a whole lot.  And maybe not just maybe.  It’s pretty much a well know fact. 

And I don’t like getting my hair cut.  I don’t like it at all.  It’s been so long since I got my hair cut that it’s gone out of style, back in style, out, in, out, and back in again.  Then it stopped being a style. 

When I got older I started pulling it up in a pony tail.  Not only did that get it out of my eyes and off of my neck, but it also had the added extra benefit of pulling those pesky wrinkles  laugh lines out of my face.  (This is also the reason I’m fat… fluffs out my face and smooths out those um……grooves) 

Well, I have recently become able to dye my hair again – another story altogether.   I always maintained that when I started to go grey no one would ever again see my natural hair color.  Did you know that hair dye doesn’t cover grey hair?  Me either!  (insert sad face here)  But the red dye worked out well and my dearest husband said that it suited my personality.  I chose to take that as a compliment about my spunky personality as opposed to a not so complimentary remark about my admitted tendency towards bitchiness. 

So, I dyed my hair red.  Then I hated the way it looked.  Not the color, but the fact that it looked the same as always.  It’s spring.  I feel kinda good.  Sap is rising in the trees, buds are popping out on the branches, and I wanted a change.  So I completely lost my mind – not a really large stretch here – popped out my trusty scissors, and started to destroy my hair.  Did a bang up job of it too!  Looked pretty much like most of the Barbie dolls laying around the house.  Except I have both legs and arms and I wasn’t naked.  I was laying abandoned on the floor for a while, but then I got up and put what was left of my hair back up in a hair-bow and debated on whether or not I could wait out the time it would take for it to grow back out. 

Not really.  It was pretty bad.  Even for me.  So I did what I usually do when I make a REALLY bad decision about something that I can’t take back.  I sat on it for about 2 weeks and let it stew.  Not my head, just the decision about what to do.  Although if I had sat on my head in the first place I wouldn’t have been in this pickle!  But that is neither here nor there.  I’m just not that limber anymore anyway. 

So for 2 weeks I kept telling myself and everyone else that I did it on purpose.  (yall knew I didn’t.  We’ve met.  You know me better than that.)  And I had to tell myself that I was going to have to get my hair cut.  Took me that whole 2 weeks and a couple of false starts to actually get it done.  Chickened out twice. 

Finally my dearest husband tricked me into going to Lowe’s with him and then kinda lulled me into the salon.  He knows how to work me sooo well!  I would be so pathetic without him.  Bless that poor stylists heart!  The look of shock on her face was priceless.  But she was totally up to the challenge.  I won’t even fault her for telling me that I really “gakked up my head”.  Gakking was the least of what I did to it.  She actually told me that I would have been better off letting my dearest husband cut it!  Little did she know how right she was. 

So I sucked up the fussing she gave me.  I let her cut lots and lots and lots of my hair off.  I felt naked and vulnerable.  And none of it was in the fun way either.  But when it was all said and done, it’s the first haircut I’ve ever had in my life that I liked when I walked out the door.  And I don’t even feel bad about having to promise not to tell anyone who did it until we get it fixed for real. 

Now,  if I could just do something about this spare tire I have………


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