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I got a haircut.
Now, this may come across as a less-than-shocking statement for some people. After all, everyone gets their hair cut, right? I mean, some go to get one once a month. I, on the other hand, have abstained from even a trim for years.
I could pinpoint my first bad haircut and say that little Ramona-the-brave style made me swear never to entrust my hair to another's scissors again. It did, after all. I had my hair down to my waist in Jr High, despite the occasional Great Clips trips. It continued to be that long until the day after Mom passed. The night she died, I was with everyone that could be gathered from my friends- Amethist (once she was off work), Laur, T, Athenae- even Lisa and Connie were there at the time. And I remember choking on the decision to cut my hair.
And I did- short. Really short. Brushing my shoulders short. People at the funeral didn't recognize me short.
And dramatic little thing that I was, I had to go and say something dramatic and puzzling to all who asked me why I did it: "They tore their hair and donned garments of sackloth and ashes, wailing into the streets." Or something of that nature. Where did it come from? Oh, a bit of Esther, a bit of Ancient Egyptian lore. (Apparently there were people in Egypt that made money by wandering the streets in ashes when someone of import died, wailing before the carriage in the appearance of mourning. But it's been years since I read it- or thought about it for that matter.)
I gave it to Locks of Love then, being that I had promised myself that I'd do it. And each time I would think about it then, it would always be "one more month" or "I'll wait for the Working Women's Survival Show". Or something of that nature. I'm fairly certain that someone dropped me off, and that I walked back home. I don't remember too much else from that, though.
To be fair, I did almost chicken out today. I don't know why- I think it was a bit of the jitters for no reason whatsoever. But I gave twelve inches, and three more that will have to be trimmed. My hair's about three or four inches below my shoulders. It's not short, and it wasn't an unpleasant experience- after all, Fantastic Sams does free cuts for Locks of Love. And my stylist was pleasant, to boot.
So every time I look in the mirror, I blink my eyes twice, and know that I'll be doing double-takes for the next two weeks while I get used to my hair being gone again. Maybe if I look twice, my hair will come back.
I got a haircut.
Not a traumatic change... just a physical one. Mostly.