There is an element in my life that makes my breathing tighten and raises hives on my neck. I know it has to happen. I understand it. But it’s never gone well for me. More often than not, tears fall and my emotions are left in shambles. It takes me weeks to pull myself together again.
I hate getting my haircut.
No matter where I go, who I talk to or which picture I bring, I am never happy. The last time I went to the saloon, she kept saying how pretty my hair was, but the haircut just kept going on and on. She snipped, combed, flat ironed, gelled, and called in colleagues. Ultimately she stopped fussing with a, “Wow, your hair just won’t look good, will it?” :gulp:
The time before, my hairdresser started cutting before I mentioned what I wanted. I was trying to say that I want my swoopy bangs short enough that I can’t tuck them behind my ear, because that’s what I’ll do and it looks goofy. She says, “Ah ok, get them behind the ear.” I explained over and over, but it wasn’t going through. That one ended with a haircut that never did anything but stay in a ponytail.
So many tramatic experiences have left me gun shy. I try and small talk with the hairdresser, but they must be able to see the anxiety coming through my follicles. They soon stop talking and get to work screwing up my hair.
It’s not only the element of getting a haircut…it’s finding my hairstyle . I keep looking for the one that will work with my hair. Does it exist? Before my birth, my father said that he feels bad for me since that kid was going to be cursed with the combination of their hair. My father had super fine, wispy hair. My ma has curly hair. I have wispy, wavy hair with a cowlick directly in the middle of my widow’s peak.
If you looked at my computer’s history….you’ll see days and days worth of research. I look at pictures to figure out what hairstyle to go with. And then I’m left with pictures like this:
I…um… ugh. How long until I can keep my hair permed like the little old ladies?