The hair is the richest ornament of women.Â ~Martin Luther
An new haircut is calling me.
It has been nearly three months since I had a cut and color. That is a record for me. The house sale, move, moms surgery, and sons surgery, put my hair addiction on the back burner. It has now gotten so bad (dark roots are evil things) that I am feeling physically ill from it. I feel rather trailer park trashy with a few inches of dark roots, washed out cooper highlights and frayed ends.
I have quite a relationship with my hair. A first mom in Texas said I take my emotions out on it. That made me laugh. In some ways that is very true. In other ways, it is merely the fact that for me, it is yet another canvas I can work on. It is amusing to me that I am rather well, bold, with my hair which tends to cause people to notice me and comment. I greatly dislike this. I am the type that prefers to be lost in a sea of people and not stick out. Yet, that is not the image I project. My hair colors, my crazy jewelry selections, my piercing and tattoos clearly say “look at me”. Perhaps it is the Gemini in me. The hair coloring twin is the one that likes to be noticed. The silent twin just wants to be left alone to skulk around in a corner.
My hair has been:
- my natural color (which is some sort of dark brown with strong red highlights -but don’t quote me on that since I have not seen that color in over 30 years)
- chocolate brown
- beige ( It was more like taupe and it wasn’t intended to be that way. However, it did match my shoes I owned that time so I worked with it)
- red with blonde chunks
- burgundy with copper chunks
- peach (yes, you know, that color the old lady sitting in the pew in front of you in church has in her hair?)
- and variations in between.
I have been this way since I was around twelve and started pouring peroxide and later Sun-In in my ashy brown/auburn hair. My mother, at one time a professional hair stylist, was all too eager to indulge me. She turned me on to Clairol, Nice n Easy, Loreal and other over the counter bottles of color. These days I get it done professionally every 4 – 6 weeks. Yes, its my little indulgence. Even moms in the maternity home knew this about me. When I found my daughter and discovered she had a hair thing too, a mom friend from the home asked me if there was a hair coloring gene.
I am pondering a medium length, asymmetrical, heavily layered bob of burgundy and copper. This means I will cut about 4-5 inches off the bottom. Maybe more. I want something a bit sassy and funky for the summer.
I discussing this with my oldest son last night he disagreed.
“You should keep it long Mom. It looks better long” he said.
“Well, it wont be too short. Just a few inches, near my shoulders” I respond.
“Long, Mom, it looks better long.” He insists as he sharpens a pencil.
“But, Nik, look at these dead ends, its all raggedy. It will look much healthier if I trim it.” I explain
Appearing incredibly disinterested, he returns to his math homework. I stand there expecting more dialogue.
“Long?” I ask.
“Mom, I have homework to do. Its your hair. Do what you want. I am a guy, you know? I don’t care about that stuff. Too bad sister is not here. She could give you some good advice. She cuts and colors her hair as much as you” he says as his pencil scratches the paper of this math work sheet.
Yes, that is true.
Too bad sister is not here.