Hair, Cut.

I have the kind of hair that hairdressers want to get their hands on -- at least, until they realize how, well, abundant it is. I have very thick, healthy, lovely hair. I also have about twice as much of it on my head as the average person. You may think I'm exaggerating. I'm not. Case in point: when I was in high school and thought perming my hair was a good idea (it wasn't), a perm would take from 4 to 6 hours due to the rolling. I would usually end up with about 300 curling rods on my head. Colouring my hair requires two or three trips to mix up more colour. Blow drying my hair has been known to take at least 30 minutes, often longer.

I usually keep my hair fairly long. This is because I have a really big head, the kind that doesn't look good in hats because, well, most hats don't fit properly. As such, when I have short hair, my head tends to look disproportionate to the rest of me, in a Bobblehead-y fashion. I hate bobbleheads, and have no desire to resemble them. So, long hair.

But.

When you have super thick hair (and a lot of it to boot) you get headaches every time you put your hair in a ponytail. It takes your hair forever to air dry, and blow drying is a time drain. (And if you put your hair up while it's wet? Forget it. It will still be wet when you take it down, and will feel rather gross.) You will eat it with some regularity. It will be EVERYWHERE all of the time.

A few weeks ago I decided that I had ENOUGH. It was time, I thought, to let go of the long hair. It was time to go short, Bobblehead be damned.

I found a hair cut I liked.

I went to the hairdresser. I showed her the photo. She made affirmative noises. I got in the chair.

This was when things started to go ... shall we say, sideways.

The problem with being excessively nearsighted and also having allergies is this: I can't always wear my contacts. I went to the hairdresser with my glasses on. Of course, for her to be able to cut my hair, she needed me to take them off. At that point, I was completely at her mercy and unable to see what she was doing.

Also, she was having a VERY bad day. A hugely bad, horrible day involving her two children, issues with her ex husband, and a boyfriend who bailed on her during the issues with the kids and the ex. We talked about it while she cut my hair. Snip, snip, snip.

When she got done, she styled it. I love having people play with my hair. No problem.

Then I put my glasses back on.

And didn't really know what to say.

I went in with a photo, remember? I had this vision of a funky, edgy, short cut.

My reality did NOT match my vision. Not even a little. Instead of my fun crazy cut? I have a bob.
A very boring, longer than I want it to be bob.

At first I thought, maybe I'm not being open minded enough about this. After all, she did style it to be super poofy. Sort of like a brown football helmet. Maybe it will be more fun when it's not so -- big, I thought. Plus she was having a miserable day and I didn't have the heart to say, "Um, this? Is not what I wanted." (Should have. Didn't.)

To be fair, it isn't ... terrible. I've had worse haircuts, I suppose. I just don't, you know, love it.

Or really even like it.

However, I will say this: It was honestly worth it to me not to upset her any more on that particular day. I can live with this for three more weeks, and then I'll go back in and be VERY EXPLICIT and make sure that, when I walk out, I have the hair I wanted. She'll be happy, I'll be happy, we'll all be happy.

It's just hair.

It's just hair that I will NOT be posting on the internet. Sigh.