Oh – it takes coming face to face with your own ugly ass self to realize that you are, in fact, VAIN.
Friday my sweetie and I had sort of blocked off on the calendar to get hair cuts. You would have to know us, we like to do things together. We enjoy doing most mundane events, by each others side – haircuts included. Fact: I have had a great hair guy for about 2 years. His name is Troy and he works at – yes, I know – Fantastic Sams. I have defended my dear Fantastic experience for some time now. I love that I can get my uni-brow lifted and separated every 10 weeks or so along with my great haircut from Troy.
But like everything – it died the last time I saw dear Troy. The cut wasn’t as great, some chemicals were applied – poorly. It just wasn’t the fantastic experience I had come to know and love. And I will freely admit it here – I love not paying a mint for a crap shoot – which is I think what the hair business has always been for me. Oh I have paid the high bucks, followed my guy or gal (I had 2 stylists I have been very loyal to before Troy, even moved in with one of them) wherever they went. I apparently care, a lot, about how my hair looks.
So Friday, we headed off to Fantastic Sams, knowing Troy was not there and we’d have to go to one of the other very good, very competent and sometimes even cute stylists. We get there and its a 2 HOUR wait. Oh – how I wish I was patient. Yet another flaw that has bitten me in the ass. I didn’t want to wait, neither did my sweetie. So off to the other Sams, just up the way.
So, I tell the guy I am flexible, I want a quick cute, somewhat shorter cut, I don’t have 30 minutes in the morning to primp and floof. I have been growing my hair out for at least a year, it was longish. Like the longest its been in like 10 years, I share that I am sort of liking it – proud in a way. I point to the other stylist and tell him "kinda like hers, maybe a bit longer." Specifically I said these words: "Do not make me look like a super dyke butch, you know what I mean? Still femine." (its just not a good look for me, it looks good on others – just not me.) He said yes.
In the salon – I couldn’t hold back. On the way home, all of Friday night – on and off. Again Saturday while getting feedback from a friend and my sister. I cried.
I wish I didn’t care. I do. Shit I have so many things to be thankful for, like it WILL grow back. For some friends I know, that won’t happen anytime soon. I don’t have cancer, I am not sick. I have a home, a loving partner who still tells me I am beautiful, I have food, a good job, family. It’ll grow back. It always does. But what do I do in the mean time? I think I will wrap up this pity party, and find another part of my body to look at, and remember that in fact – no matter what – I am beautiful.