What can I say? I was young, I was reckless. One day, I just decided my hair needed a little change. Before you get any ideas, I didn’t go all Britney Spears on it. It wasn’t that dramatic. I had decided it was just time to change up the long locks look and try a short, swishy style. Can you blame me for wanting a change? Once my hair grew past my shoulders as a tot, I’d had it long for my entire life, with one traumatic exception.
That distressing day in middle school, I went to a hairdresser and asked her to take 3 inches off. Give them an inch, they’ll take a mile. 7 inches later and she presented the new, and very surprised, me. I made it about two feet out the door before I burst into tears. You’ve got to understand, it’s not like hair grows back or anything. This kind of thing follows you for life. She probably loved my long locks so much she just wanted to cut them all off (that’s the hairdresser reaction to things they find adorable; it’s like wanting to squish a precious baby’s chubby cheeks or cuddle a cute puppy to death). Now, before I go to a new hairdresser, I give her a good, long stare–just long enough to make everyone a little uncomfortable–to make sure that she’ll stick to what I ask her.
You’re probably wondering why I would contemplate massacring my own hair after an incident that clearly altered the course of my life, but at that point I was simply bored and feeling adventurous, and if anyone was going to cut my hair short it was going to be me. So I picked up my scissors, took a deep breath, and did what I came to do. At first I only lobbed off a few inches. I was nervous about what my mom would say. (You know moms, always handing out practical advice such as “don’t cut your own hair” like it’s their job).
I decided to test the waters before I got in too deep, so I walked downstairs. No terrified shrieks, no roof collapses, no nothing. Elated she hadn’t noticed and still on a haircutting high, I was convinced it wasn’t short enough. So I headed back upstairs and cut it a bit more. When I was finally satisfied, it was above my shoulders (and still slightly uneven). But I couldn’t have been more pleased with myself. Look how easy that was! And for free too! Pure brilliance, I tell you.
There was only one problem…It was definitely noticeable. To this day I don’t know how I mustered the strength to face my mother a second time. Maybe I was just happy with my life and had come to terms with the fact that I might die that day. Or maybe I realized that I hadn’t squirreled away enough food in my room to last me until my hair was decent again. I’ll never know. All I know is that I somehow survived that encounter. To her credit, my mom took it all pretty well, although she was definitely less than pleased. As for me, I cut my hair a few more times until I was ready to let it grow out. Since then, it’s stayed quite long, but there’s no telling when I’ll get bored again.