Haircut

I grew up in the age of the "Pixie Cut". Every little girl had one, except the lucky ones, like my sisters. I hated my pixie cut. I thought it made me look like a boy and I desperately wanted to have long feminine hair. I wanted curls and ribbons, ponytails and braids, and I cried whenever it came time for the dreaded haircut.

For most of my early years I had short hair. Even as a teen my mom insisted my hair looked much better short. My early married years were filled with babies, toddlers, and small children, and since I didn't know how to take care of long hair, I continued to keep it short. It was easy to wash, easy to comb, and easy to style. It didn't blow into my food at windy picnics, it didn't get closed in car door or rolled up in windows, and I didn't find it wrapped around dishcloths as I washed plates in the the sink, but when my youngest daughter turned four all that began to change.

For the past fourteen years I have had longish and long hair. I've been tempted to cut it all off and been encouraged by others to keep it long. Years back I had a favorite hairdresser, but when Rhonda cut back her working hours I began to search for haircuts elsewhere. Four years ago I had a bad, bad haircut and ever since I have been terrified of having my hair styled. I've had it trimmed here and there, but each time with fear and trepidation. Well, tomorrow I am headed out for a haircut again. I'm a little apprehensive, but I know it needs to be done.

Wouldn't you know, my mother, the one who always had my hair chopped off short, short, said to me this morning, "I wouldn't let them take too much off." Sometimes I really wonder who this woman is!