The Hair is Gone

Nine months of glory came to an end earlier today.

Nine months of not caring.

Nine months of shag.

Nine months of careless bliss ... gone in a matter of 40 minutes. (Yes, it took 40 minutes to get my hair cut, but that's a whole other story.)

I now have one of the dumbest-looking haircuts I've ever had. Unfortunately, the guy who usually cuts my hair, the guy who has cut my hair since I was in elementary school, was out of town, so I was thrown into the pit of despair known as a mall salon.

It was bad.

It was humiliating.

It was $22.

Yep, $22 for some cheap haircut that makes me look like I live in a psych ward. It almost looks like Jim Carrey's character in "Dumb and Dumber." That's right, the "pumpkin-pie-haircutted freak."

This heinous act was done in preparation for a job interview. I'm hoping my long, strawberry-blonde locks that now likely reside in a Longview Mall dumpster wouldn't have given me a better chance than my new Dennis The Menace 'do.

It's very humbling to have nine months of luster taken away by a total stranger in public. I kinda felt like Natalie Portman in "V for Vendetta." To make it worse, my mom was there. She had to be there; there was no way I was gonna be able to tell some weird guy in a mall salon how I wanted my hair cut, especially considering how long it was and how short I wanted it.

So after two ill-fated attempts at getting it as short as I wanted it, he got the shears back out and went over it again, my mother standing there watching along with every other person in the place.

It was emasculating.

It was shameful.

It was free.

After all, my mom was there, and she knew how mad I was about it. So she paid for it.

Guess it wasn't so bad after all.