Locks of Love and a Little Slanket

Yes I did, and yes I was.

To clear up a few questions from my last post:

1. Yes, I cut my hair. It is shorter than it has ever been. We are dealing with the situation.
2. Yes, I was wearing a slanket during our slumber party, as I do most evenings. Don't hate.

First of all, the haircut.



This is my hair on the morning of Friday, June 27. Long, heavy, lumpy mass of trouble. I was so tired of it constantly being in my way, and it has been just too hot to bear this summer. I haven't cut my hair (except for the occasional trim) since high school, and it was time. So when Jack hit the road last weekend, I hit the salon.

As I mentioned before, it's been a while since I have had my hair cut short, and Jack has always preferred it long. I told him in passing that I might get it cut while he was gone, if I got too bored, and he said, go ahead. So I blame him.

I told my stylist, Misty, I wanted to cut it all off, and that she could send it to Locks of Love. For those of you who aren't familiar, LOL is a charity that takes your unwanted hairs and gives it to cancer patients who can't grow their own. I hope my lumpy mass will make someone very happy.

So there I was, in the chair. She whipped my hair up into a ponytail and asked if I was sure I wanted to do this. Yes?

She poised her scissors above the ponytail holder, and caught my eye in the mirror one last time. A slow grin crept over her face, as though she understood the gravity of the situation, asking for one last "go ahead" before she took my ponytail away.

"Are you ready for this?"

I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, and she took that as a yes. Five minutes later, she had finally managed to saw through my thick, coarse mane, and she was triumphantly holding the ponytail formerly attached to my head up like an Indian chief with his first scalp. I wish I had taken a picture of that. It was over a foot long and looked so strange detached from my head. My hair was a mess. I went into mild shock, but after a few minutes on the bag, I was stable enough to style.

She began cutting even more, and things began to even out. By the time she was done, another pound of my hair was lying scattered carelessly on the floor around my throne. I walked out of there feeling about 10 pounds lighter. Probably not a bad estimate, although I haven't yet been on the scales to confirm.

Misty did a fantastic job, exactly what I told her I wanted. However, I'm still deciding if that was a great idea. I thought long hair was a pain, but you can always throw it up in a ponytail. Now my dead ponytail is lying in a box somewhere awaiting a new head and I'm stuck with something I cannot style.

Slowly, I'm learning. I placed a 911 call to my cousin, Dees, who came right over and helped me fix it the day after I cut it. And she brought me a Bops to ease the pain. Then my little sister, who is way more stylish than I will ever be, threw in her two cents with a curling iron a few days later. Although much shorter, my hair is still very lumpy and will not always cooperate. It tends to rebel in the back, where I have much less control over it, but at least I can't see that part, so as long as I can fix the front, I'll just wear a hoodie.