I think it started with a college photo I uploaded to facebook.
That hair.

Whew! And you know I thought it looked good. It was easy to style too, even when I had to use Carmex after the gel ran out, which was pretty much all of the time. And even though it’s now clear that I was pushing the porcupine-skunk boundary to the max, that hair still resonated with me as I uploaded it.

Get out of your funk it said. Do something!

So when both girls were asleep at the same time, I took a shower, brushed my hair forward into a ponytail on top of my forehead and hacked away. No hesitation, no worries, nothing. I’m a cocky son of a gun during the scariest moments.

And why shouldn’t I’ve been, when I’ve got this before/after photo to gaze into:

(Source)

Yep, no need to worry. And look she even got some new specs that magically appeared after cutting off that tail. This is the gift that just keeps on giving, folks. One cut and you’re a knockout.

And then I looked up.

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Wait for it….

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What the.

Nailed it.

Look at how that gray hair glistens. You can take the girl out of the skunk, but you can’t take the skunk out of the girl.

I quickly ran back into the bathroom and redid the whole process. You know, because more of something is always a good thing? And as I was leaned over the sink about to take the next cut, I heard Ruthie yell at the top of her lungs “I’ve got to go POOOOOOP“. Oh yeah, we’re on day 9 of potty training. Not even two weeks. My response?

“Yeah, go for it Ruth… Your mom’s taking care of an emergency.”

I quickly cut my hair and ran down the hall before even looking in the mirror. She ended up doing everything right, making it into the potty chair, and we had our usual discussion of what animal the poop looks like. She’s the one that started it, I just rolled with the punches. This time it looked like a bunny rabbit. Yeah, cool Ruthie, I gotta go.

I ran back into the bathroom and looked in the mirror.

What the.

I mean, I guess it did look sleeker.

And look at these layers!

No comment.

No, literally. No comments were made. Not even from my 2.5 year old, who is now trained under threat of expulsion that she shall scream “I LIKE YOUR HAIR” when mom comes out of the bathroom for an extended period of time. Because we all know I don’t spend the minimum quota of time required with a brush.

But nope, not a word.

I think she would’ve rather been sent packing into the wilderness and find wolves with better manes than this thing that is currently her mom.

So back to the bathroom I went and I just took the rest of my party hair in one hand and hacked away. It was pretty much Les Miserables all over again.

Though no one paid me for my locks.

Annie tried her best to photobomb the photo to protect your eyes, but I was too fast.

And then it really went down hill because I started day dreaming about my life with this haircut.

Do I tilt my head to counter the diagonal line of the cut in the back? But what if my head stays like that? I would forever be in mid-valley girl head toss.

No.

Should I walk with Annie in front of me at all times, blocking the jagged layers?

But when she’s 16, she’s gonna be heavier, so no that wouldn’t work either.

What if I try to be a hipster and act like this was intentional and you’re actually not cool for having a symmetrical hairstyle..

No. And I think insulted the whole hipster community.

Then I walked through the room and pretended to be a bystander glancing at me.

My raw reaction was the push I needed….

FINE, I’ll go to an actual hairdresser.

Ryan came home and I scooted out the door faster than you could say “…and maybe you should look into highlights…“

I didn’t know where to go, so I drove down the main strip looking for “Walk-ins Welcome” and, aha! I spotted one. Ooooh, and it was so cute too. In an old little home with a handmade “We’re open!” sign in the window. I pulled around the back away from the front windows.

Because… well, because I was driving Ryan’s car. The one he just got in a wreck with. The one with no muffler where it sounds like a freight train bearing down the road. The one where if I pull down the shade thing, all the fluff and dirt from the past 15 years falls on your face. Normally, I’m totally okay with all those quirks, especially if I can hop out with my hair straightened and full-on makeup. But not this night. Nope, I was a ball of self-consciousness. So when I pulled behind the cute little hairdresser house, my stomach sank when a hidden window appeared on the rear wall.

A window where three hairdressers were hanging out.

When I parked, they looked. All of them. And they continued looking. I looked back. We stared at each other for a full minute before I raised my hand in a semi “Yeah… what are you looking at, my HAIR???” move and stuck out my chin. One girl raised her hand back at me and did the same thing.

Oh, man, it is ON, I thought. How dare they laugh at my haircut when I am coming to them for help. Well, they’re not getting my business.

And I reversed out of that parking spot. But because I was driving a stick and because I was a ball of nerves, I stalled. So I had to restart the car and then peel out of the parking lot.

Good riddance, I thought. On down the road I went, refusing to acknowledge that I’d over-reacted. Denial is bliss, especially when truth can be drowned out by a bad muffler.

…and then I saw it. “Hair….And All That Jazz”.

HECK. YEAH. I swerved into the parking lot, but it was Closed.

Dang. It.  I had visions of them putting a sequined cloak around me and quietly singing, “Rat a tat tat, rat a tat tat tat” while snipping away.

Ah well, on I drove and finally came to a no-big-deal salon in a random strip mall. But what drew me in was that no one was seen in the salon itself. Dead is probably not the adjective most people want associated with their hair salon, but for me it’s a perfect one.

I walked in and out came this guy that smelt of a too-short smoke break. But he was soft-spoken as I rambled on about my episode.

Little did I know that I was about to have the best hair cut experience of my life. Not even joking. He made one gentle comment about the unevenness of the back and then that was all. I think he might be my hairstyling soulmate, because I hate chit-chatting during a hair cut. He let me sit there with my eyes closed as he slowly worked around my head. When his co-worker came back from her smoke break, she asked him several yes/no questions that he must have responded with nodding or shaking his head, because he uttered not a word and my peace was uninterrupted.

I left feeling shaky like I had just gotten a massage. It was wonderful.

And since I still had the keys and time alone, I headed to a store that I always have to rush through with two kids in tow: Hobby Lobby. When I heard a little toddler scream bloody murder and throw a tantrum, I smiled at the frazzled mom and continued on my slow… slow… slow stroll down the aisle.

Hi. This is me without kids staring at crafty things and home decor:

But let’s take a look at the new do that Smoke Break McGee did for me.

What a happy accident.