The last hair cut I had was just before Johanna's wedding in March. I've sort of been growing my hair out since then.
I say "sort of" because it has been growing, and I haven't been motivated to go for a cut. At some time in the last three months, I decided to "decide" to just grow it out for awhile and see how I like it.
Now... I have mostly liked it a bit longer, but my hair is very fine and there's not much of it anymore. This means that a "good hair day" is one when I've been able to hot brush it before it has dried poker straight, and I'm able to finish it with a curling iron to some semblance of niceness.
A "bad hair day" has me feeling like a flop all day, in spite of frequently repeated curlings and hot brushings.
Yesterday was a bad day, in hair related matters.
I missed the critical hot brushing deadline, and from a slightly spiky beginning went on to a rather formless end.
By 5:30, when I was starting to get ready for the big Grade 8 Farewell Barbecue at Micah's school, I think I had a mental seizure.
I found myself reaching under the sink for the clippers.
No- nothing THAT drastic... but there is a pair of hair cutting scissors in the clipper bag...
And I'm afraid I trimmed my bangs...
I know I thought "It doesn't matter. I have a haircut booked for Monday morning anyway."
At the time, it made them look better.
This morning I'm having second thoughts.
I'm also thinking, upon reflection, that in spite of liking the longer hair at least 2/3 of the time,
I may like it better very short- like in my facebook profile picture.
It's summer now.
And I have a date with Chicago in a month.
And My Hair plus Humidity does not equal One Happy Camper.
I think my subconscious heart's desire kicked in, and in a moment of temporary insanity I sealed my growing hair's fate with a snip of the scissors.
This morning I'm thanking God for that appointment on Monday.