What happened to my hair? What’d she do? It’s all short and round and…well…soccer mom-like. I feel the overwhelming urge to join the PTA and buy a minivan. My hair hangs against my neck rather than over it. I run my fingers through it and they slip out inches and inches sooner than they ought. It kind of, you know, poofs. By the time I’d noticed what she was doing it was too late and a lot of my hair was lying on the floor.
Sure. My salon is expensive. And they give out glasses of decent wine. And they give the best hair washings/head massages. But my hair. It’s, like, gone. Short. If a woman has curly hair and you cut it short you’re just going to give her a white girl afro. Thank God the company pictures were taken last week.
Maybe I can just wear do-rags until it grows out some more. Or hats. I hear there are some mighty nice hats out there. How about a burka? No, I might offend some touchy people. Better to just stick with hats.
I reiterate: ACK!
OK. Deep breath. I’m sure it’ll look better tomorrow after I shower and wash out the “product.” It’ll be fine, right? Sure. No worries. And soon the weather will be turning nice (please God) and I’ll be able to walk around in bare feet and tank tops and there’ll be no danger of anyone mistaking me for little Ms. Soccer-Mom (hyphenated, ifyouplease).
And if nothing else I’m sure my hair will—as my stylist pointed out—grow out nicely. Eventually. *sigh*