Hair Issues

Yup. I am having some hair issues.

I decided a few weeks ago that I wanted to grow out my hair. Which for me means anything more than an inch or two long because I wear my hair very very short (shortly?). I prefer to have hair that requires approximately 2.5 minutes to dry and a quick brush-through (if at all), and allows no one but no one to grab ahold of it and lift me off the ground. (Not that anyone COULD lift me off the ground by my hair, necessarily, but I saw it done to my step-cousin Skip one time when we were kids, and it sort of stuck with me.)

It is quite possible that I do not have the right face for such extremely short hair (someone like Annie Lennox has no problemo pulling it off), but I do not care. I am of the notion that hair should be of the utmost low-maintenance: no-maintenance.

The only real problem with having very short hair is that to keep it that way, you need to get your hair cut every 3 or 4 weeks. And I usually go 5 or 6 weeks, sometimes a little longer, so by the time I get a haircut, I am feeling a little scraggly.

Right now, my hair is a good 2 months away from being anything even resembling longish, but I am well into the scraggly phrase. Yet my hair alternates: Sometimes, it looks just great (well, OK, just fine), and other times, total scraggliness.

Another problem is that I have just hit the point where I usually give up on growing it out. I run my hands through my hair and think, Hmmm, I kinda like my hair like this, but it is just not me. And I call my stylist or beautician or whatever and she cuts my hair and I am happy again for another month or so.

And now I am estranged, sort of by default, from my hair-cutter. And I have no idea how long this will last, or if it will ever actually end, and I sit here wondering, Will she ever cut my hair again? And if not: What will I do? She has been cutting my hair for at least the last 10 years, maybe a little longer. How do you transfer that intimacy, that closeness, that trust, to someone else?

I look at myself in the mirrow, and I know I need a haircut.

I wonder if Wal-Mart sells clippers and professional scissors? Because, I must be honest: The only other person besides her that I trust with my hair is me. Or I. Or whatever.

* Skulking off to find a baseball cap. *