Five years ago, I was a mermaid.
And I'll admit, my natural hair is rather... majestic. You know, in a Dungeons and Dragons sort of way. But because I had two children under four and no social life, I spent 90% of my life looking like this:
Which is not sexy AT ALL. So I donated THE FRO to Locks of Love.
And that left me looking like so:
And sometimes (by which I mean during the three days after I got my hair cut and my stylist blew it out for me), I looked like this:
When I met Joel, I looked like this. You know, ridiculously HAPPY and be-curled.
Then I wanted a change (100% my idea), so I went red.Which sometimes made me feel sophisticated.
And other times made me feel like the clown from Steven King's IT.
But several months before my divorce, I wrote out a Life List and one of the items on said list was to go blond for a year. So when I mentioned that to Joel, he got all excitificated (in his pants) (and elsewhere) and I decided that rather than touch up my roots and stay red, I might just as well save my hair the drama and go blond. Because it was clearly in my cards...
As was some very, very red lipstick (on my teeth).The only problem was that the bleach totally and completely fried my hair. It would still curl, but only in a dangerous, Glenn-Close-in-Fatal-Attraction sort of way. So here I was a year later and the last time I went in for a haircut, I tried to get my usual A-line bob and the stylist was, like, I'll do my best, but your bangs are so fried they're all broken off... And she was right. I no longer had enough hair to get a decent haircut.
BUT I LOVE BEING BLOND.
I feel like it's my signature. People recognize Joel and I on the street! "Aren't you two the ones who write that BLOG?!?!"
The blond and the baldman.
So instead of changing my color, I salvaged what was left of my hair by chopping off all the crusty bits. Which means there isn't much left. It's SHORT. Shorter hair than I've ever had before.
But I still get to be blond!
No. Seriously It does.
But the best part is that it actually feels like HAIR again. It's SOFT. And today I spent exactly THIRTY SECONDS fixing it and it looked like this:
Is it weird that the shorter I cut my hair, the more I feel like I'm exposing the real me? I think my hair used to serve as a shroud. First it hid my fatness, then it hid my unhappiness.
Now all you get is me, my tattoo and, apparently, my boobs.