First You Cry and then You Cut Your Hair

You cannot prevent the birds of sorrow from flying over your head,
but you can prevent them from building nests in your hair.
~ Chinese Proverb~

Anyone who knows women knows that one of the first things to go in the midst of any crisis is her hair. Today I got my hair cut. I mean cut.

Generally I'm a pretty content woman. Day to day, I get by, find joy in ordinary things, and  feel pretty good. When I'm sad, I'm the saddest person on the planet. I weep constantly. My eyes burn and I can't sleep.  I feel sick. When I'm around other people, I want to be alone, and when I'm alone I cry.  I had a pretty rough week last week, and after days of weeping and feeling awful, I made it to Friday. Not just any Friday. This is my holiday Friday. My kick-off-my-two-weeks-of-summer-holidays-Friday. Usually ante ceded in any emails by "Woo-hoo!".   Not this time. I came home and just wanted to crawl under a blanket until I disappeared.

Thanks to my adopted mom, I got through the weekend.  She bundled up my son and I and took us up north for some R&R, and she made me laugh. Oh my gawd she made me laugh. Thinking of her in her bathing suit, kayaking with a long-dead, giant (like huge/giant) northern pike sprawled across the bow with my son cheering her on from shore, makes me laugh just remembering it. It's one of those bright spots in the grey that makes me know I will feel better eventually.

Anyway, we looked at perky haircuts and agreed (as all women would) that a fresh, new haircut and colour would be just the thing to make me feel better. That, and a trip to MAC Cosmetics, and I thought that I would be on my way emotional recovery, or, at the very least, looking like I was cheery and competent. Ironic, because that's the polar opposite of what was driving me to get my outward appearance together.

So, this morning, before paying my colossal car repair bill from last week (special note here I do have a fantastic mechanic, it's just that my car is ready to retire), I thought I would go to my new hairdresser's, and get that perky little cut that would change my entire life.

My son was uber-patient today. He waited, quiet and still, while I explained to Helen the Hairdresser (no, really, that's her name), the kind of cut I wanted. It was a cute, just-below-the-chin-cut with long sassy bangs. I even brought a photo, and I wanted to leave the place with my dull hair looking cheery and playful - just like the picture. 

I was so happy as I tipped my head back, and Helen began to scrub my hair. Oh yah. Ooh yah. Feels great Helen. Wash that sad right outta my hair girl!  She combed and cut and combed and trimmed. I was going to be gorgeous. Gorgeous! I suppose it might be a good time to note here that Helen is Chinese.  I am not.  I am more the European, tall, broad shouldered kind of gal.  If you transplanted my hair to Helen's head, she would look like a freak, and if you took her cute square bob and planted it on my head, I would look like a weirdo. Kinda like Emo Philips if you will. So, there I was under the black plastic cape with a towel wrapped around my neck, watching Helen work her magic on my mane. Well, I wasn't really watching because I can't see without my glasses on.  I had set them aside, along with my earrings so there were no impediments to Helen's magic-mane-making. 

Helen took the big round brush that I'm such a fan of and applied it and the hair dryer to my head like a pro. She twirled and curled. I closed my eyes and let her work away. My scalp was scritchy clean and my hair was going to look cute. It seemed a little short, but it always does when it's wet doesn't it?  Helen began her final touches on my hair, and when I opened my eyes and she was setting the hair dryer aside, I almost burst out in tears. Helen had taken that square, Chinese bob and placed it on my head!!! A blonde one!!! I looked worse than weird. I looked like a dork!

If you've ever watched the Johnny Depp version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and are familiar with the bubble gum blowing Violet Beauregarde, you'll be familiar with what I was looking at in the mirror. Blue eyes round and huge in horror with a bob that curled just about two inches above the level of my chin. This did NOT look like the picture. This did NOT resemble the perky haircut that my adopted mom and I gave the nod to this weekend as the one that would cheer me up. What the heck?! Was it possible that I could actually feel worse?

Trying not to cry and yell, I pointed again to the picture that I had hoped would be a road map to my happy place. "I want it to look like this Helen". Helen glanced at the photo and gestured casually with her comb, " It's square", she said as she touched the bottom of my dorky looking hair cut. "Yes, I know it's square Helen. I was hoping for more round."  Round? I would never have described the perky-cute cut as round, but I knew that it sure as heck wasn't square."Oh. Ok." She said, and started cutting again.

Shorter. My dorky square, just-above-the-chin-bob was getting shorter. "Um. Maybe try some layers Helen." Clearly irritated Helen continued to cut with more abrupt gestures. "There", she said, "You have layers. Shake your head. You see" (yes, a statement, not a question here). I shook my head, and decided to cut my losses. I got out of the chair and took my photo with me.  I figured that I'd try a new hairdresser when my hair grew back. Helen tried really hard, but my hair was a flipping disaster. I was ticked off. Beyond ticked off.

I drove the twenty minutes home and, as most women do right after a hair cut, I re-styled my hair. My son was silent. He, having learned diplomacy as the child of a hot-blooded, never-one-to-keep-her-opinion-to-herself, single mother, kept quiet and waited patiently.  When I had finished with my haircut, I touched up my lipstick, and I didnt' feel like such a dork anymore. My very caring son said, "Wow Mom, that looks really good. It makes you look younger." I gave him a squeeze and said thank you. I wanted to hug him and tell him what a great kid he is, that he makes me happy beyond happy, and he's the light in my days, but that's not cool when you're 11. A shoulder squeeze is. So that's what I did.

You know, after I styled it myself, the cut turned out to be ok after all. It is cute, and it is perky, and I look 100% more happy than I feel inside right now.

Tonight I'm colouring my own hair. Let's hope that works out.