I’ve been growing out my hair for Locks of Love. Months ago, it got to an annoying length. Weeks ago, it got to an unbearable length. Now, it’s just impossible. Leaving it down drives me crazy, so it’s always up in a huge bun. Why was I waiting? Well, hair needs to be 10 inches to be used in a hairpiece. They can take shorter lengths of hair & they sell that to offset the price. The last time I cut my hair and donated it, I only had 7 inches to donate. That bugged me. So, I was determined to make the 10 inches this time.

It’s there. In fact, it’s about a foot from my chin.

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So, last night the hub stayed with Bean & I took off to the coiffeur. Armed with pictures of how I should cut the hair so I could donate it and a plastic bag to put the hair in, I felt ready.

While I was in college I got a terrible haircut — possibly the worst haircut anyone has ever received. I brought a picture in to the hairdresser and spent a long time laboriously explaining what I wanted. Then, the cut began. The result was hideous. She shaved the back of my head and left the front super-long. It was a reverse mullet. I couldn’t put a hat on to hide it — all of my remaining hair disappeared into the hat. I looked like a high school punk-goth. Since I usually didn’t hang out with the crowd we called “Skaters,” this didn’t really fit me. Hideous.

This memory comes back every time I go for a haircut — particularly a drastic one like last night’s. The new stress factor: explaining the hairstyle I wanted would be laborious, but it wouldn’t take long. I was going to have to do it in another language & I wasn’t sure I could do that. So, I took in a picture.


I liked how the hair was short, but still had long layers. I also liked the soft curls. I could pull back my hair if it was like this, and have some styling options. Overall, it’s cute, but in no way could I be taken for a shaggy boy.

Here’s what I’ve discovered: If you take in a picture, the hairdresser often glances at it, sees only one portion of the haircut, and goes to town. With the Horrid Cut, the hairdresser saw that I wanted my hair slightly angled towards my chin. She exaggerated that and shaved the rest. This hairdresser saw only the back and missed the long, pretty layers.

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Do I hate it? No, not hate. But, I don’t really like it. Still, the benefit of short hair: It’ll grow out soon.

The good thing: We cut off 14 inches of hair! Whoa. That’s a lot. After all of that, I’m finally glad to have something short. In a few weeks, I’ll take that picture to another hairdresser and try again.

There is some more good news. For once, my hair looks like a true Hollywood hairstyle. In fact, for once I look like someone very famous. Jennifer Aniston? Angelina Jolie? No, but someone connected with them…

I just wish I looked like a famous girl….

On another subject, my hub is in trouble. We took Bean to the doctor yesterday for her check up. The waiting room was full, so he couldn’t sit. Instead, I saw him looking at all of these free brochures and flyers. Last night, I got into bed and felt some paper there. He had brought one home and put it in the bed as a joke. Which one did he choose? “Exercise After Pregnancy.” I threatened to take my still-chunky form and sit on him. You might be saying: “Oh, mab, in the pictures you don’t look chunky!” My response: “That’s because I was sucking in so hard I heard my ribs crack.”

Before any of you start to think that my hub is a terrible, insensitive person, you should know that we do crap like this to one another all the time. The fun is in the vengeance.