It isn’t like me to talk about things like this, but you are all my friends and I know I can rely on your support. I’m afraid I’ve had a setback in my life. I mentioned this in chat over the weekend, but I’m still feeling upset. Part of it may be due to residual PTSD from that unfortunate spider incident, but still . . .
Some of you may know that I’ve been trying to grow my hair since last winter. My hairdresser had developed a tendency to . . . butch . . . cut it, so to speak, and it just didn’t fit in with my life, professional or social. Persons of the wrong sexual persuasion were trying to pick me up everywhere I went, including the grocery store. One of them, when I failed to pick up on the clues, bashed into me several times, in different aisles, with her shopping cart.
After the last “trim,” which ended up with the sides and back shaved off an inch above my ears, I determined to let it grow.
I wanted to bounce around the house in a ponytail and exude sleek professionalism at work in a French twist. I WANTED HAIR.
My hairdresser wasn’t thrilled. He thought it would look old-fashioned. Passe. [Someone put that little accent there, please.]
I thought that would be preferable to looking like a butch biker grrrrrl.
More than a year ago, I embarked on the growing process. I dealt with weirdly cut, draggly ends for months, glueing them in place with mounds of mousse. I became a conoisseur of hairsprays and gels. I measured it weekly, waiting for the day I could get even a bobby pin into it.
Month after month this went on. It wasn’t even long enough to fit in a clamp, but I was pinning it back, glueing bobby pins in with gel and hooking a cute clamp on the pins. You could hardly tell there was no hair.
Finally, in the last couple of months, I had my ponytail. A short ponytail, but still a bona fide ponytail. And, I had a really solid French twist. Everyone loved it. I loved it. I was sooooo happy with my hair.
Every 3 months or so, I had the ends evened out a bit – the sides, you know, had been sawtoothed from the previous shave-job. During one of those trims, my hairdresser cut too damned much off the top, and another time he thinned the ends – so they would be “lighter” – and made it harder to put up, so I’ve been watching out for that.
In the last few weeks, I’ve had people stopping me to tell me how spectacular I look with my hair in a French twist. “It’s elegant!” “It really sets off your face!” “I love your hair now!”
I point that out so you can see how thrilled I have been with this hair.
Thursday I went in to have the ends evened. It was just above shoulder length in front and just below in back. I figured we could even it out considerably without messing up my ponytail or the French twist.
I made it very clear – we were going to even the ends ONLY. I even showed him that the top and sides went all the way back into the ponytail. NO CUTTING ON THAT! And NO THINNING!
My hair is baby fine. I have no idea why hairdressers think they need to thin it out further.
My hairdresser’s shop is set up so that you can’t see in the mirror while he’s cutting. Besides, I keep my eyes closed so the hair doesn’t get in them.
Can you see what’s coming? I didn’t. It never crossed my mind.
Now, in case you can’t see it, I’ll mention that two weeks ago, I got tied up at work and missed an appointment with him. He didn’t sound upset, but . . .
So, after he finished up, he chirps “OOOOOOO! Isn’t it GORGEOUS? LOOOOOOOOOK! I lifted up those sides and the top to give it HEIGHT! And I THINNED IT ALL OVER so it would FLOOOOF! OOOOO! IT’S SO CUUUUUTE! And I left it looooong in back, just like you like it, so you can still have a ponytail!!!”
He’d whacked off the top, whacked off the sides to my ears, and left the very back untouched from the crown to below my shoulders. And thinned it so much that you could see my head through it. Except in the very back–big blob of hair there.
I considered telling him to fix it, but feared I’d have no hair left at all.
I went to the mall. Stopped at one shop and asked if they could fix my hair. The young man at the desk looked at it and put his hand over his mouth. Said he felt terrible about it, but all his hairdressers had just left for the night. He found me another shop.
They said it was a mullet. Very popular in some circles. Asked why I’d gotten one if I didn’t want one and asked what I’d had before. I explained. They got this look of horrified comprehension on their faces.
Sigh. They had to cut off nearly all of the back, some more of ONE side, and had to layer it up to the crown. They were really nice. Very encouraging. Showed me how quick it would blow-dry this way. 
It’s all gone. More than a year’s worth of cultivating and coaxing. No more ponytail. No more French twist. No more pulling it up in a cute clip.
I’ve put my scrunchies away–it’s too painful to look at them. 
