Something about getting a new haircut makes me feel fresh and clean and like a new woman. It’s probably because I go for so many months between haircuts. (How often do you wait between haircuts? I don’t know what normal is… maybe my every 6 months is normal?) All I know is that I feel something like a shaggy dog when I walk in and I feel like a cute, sassy and too young to have four children waiting for me at home, chica when I walk out. And then I get home and feel my age again. Almost.
A good haircut is always going to perk me up when I’m feeling drab. I hate to be so shallow but the truth is, a new outfit or a little embellishment of some sort has similar powers. My Mom probably cannot believe that I am such a girly girl now. I mean, I want to buy more skirts and dresses and I host apron extravaganzas on my blog for heaven’s sake.
Surely my Mom just prayed that some man would eventually have me those days when I spent hour upon hour up in a tree wearing soccer shorts, a t-shirt, non-matching socks and a beat-up, but much loved pair of “tennies.” Surely she prayed for my very soul and hoped that I would one day dress like a feminine woman when I went through my grunge stage in highschool… when my favorite “jacket” was a shortened and frayed top of a uniform from the U.S. Army with the last name “Sensabaugh” inscribed above the pocket which I sometimes wore with a pair of cut off flannel mens pajama bottoms or something equally unkempt, always, of course, paired with my black Doc Martin boots. When I wasn’t wearing an outfit like this, it was baggy pants and oversized t-shirts.
I remember at one point my father said to me, “How do you ever expect a boy to like you when you wear Dungarees?” To which I responded with a blank stare and then a question, “What the heck are Dungarees?” My mother shouted from the other room, “Bob! You’re dating yourself!”
He, of course could not help his commentary. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree with regards to bluntness and honesty. His mother, my same dear and wonderful Grandma who when we told her what we were naming our third child (yet to be born) said without pause, “That’s okay. You still have time to change your mind.” I love her for it because we actually did change our minds and our third boy just wouldn’t be the same with that other name… this same woman around the same time that my father hit me with the Dungaree comment told me that I needed to attend Charm School.
She was greeted with a similar response that my Dad was. “What the heck is Charm School?” She replied, “Oh, you go and learn manners and how to sit properly and how to walk across a room with a stack of books on your head and that sort of thing. It will help you make a better impression on the boys.”
Oh, if only Grandma and Dad knew, despite my bedraggled attire I still somehow managed to make an impression on the boys.
All this to say that Grandma would probably be proud and amazed that I have turned out to be SUCH a girl. Of course she might also possibly be mortified that I include a whole slew of perfect strangers in on the fact that I am nutty enough to make a highly dramatized flip book of myself being attacked by a looming hand…
So, I love my new haircut. That’s all I really wanted to say. I just took the long way around.