Haircuts are a source of stress for me. I have short hair. It grows fast. It requires a cut about once a month, and that's because I let it get all long and unwieldy before I give up and admit to myself that once again it's time to get it cut. When you have to get it cut that often, you can't afford the kind of hairdresser with whom you forge a warm and understanding relationship. You go to a place where you can get out for under $15 bucks, sit down in a stranger's chair, take off your glasses, cross your fingers, and hope for the best.
So this morning once again I faced the truth: I could no longer avoid the haircut. My hair was not "a halo of mouse-brown fire," but an untidy haystack of mouse-brown that no amount of magical product could tease into a semblance of style. So with a sigh off I went.
And it could be worse. It's short, like I asked, but somehow, I just feel like this haircut screams "dork." And I have realized that the whole process is so stressful to me that the reason why I periodically am tempted to grow my hair out is simply to avoid the painful process of getting it cut, again and again and again.
Of course, growing it out means going through that horrible haystack hair stage again. It'll be great for my ego when I'm all big and pregnant, have grody hair, and have to try to "look nice" for baby sis's wedding.