Bye-Bye Hair

For most girls with long hair, their locks are a part of their identity.

Until a mean old news director forced me into a brunette bob with bangs about five years ago, I didn't think much of my hair.

Apparently he wanted me to look older and more credible.

Instead, I ended up looking like a 12 year old boy.

 Now that I am older, I've got to do things in reverse.

I grew my hair out and dyed it blond.

Excuse me, colored it blond. I've been told that my salon vocabulary sucks.

Long blond hair was my answer to 30 looming.

But two years ago I made a promise to myself that I would donate my hair to Locks of Love.

The deadlines I gave myself kept coming and going because I wasn't quite ready to part with my youth.

And then one day a few weeks ago I woke up, looked in the mirror, and realized what a stringy, straggly mess I had going on.

I don't want to be like the 55 year old dude with the balding mullet ponytail. Also knows as the elusive skullet-tail.

Pushing 30 and still trying to look 20 isn't cool.

So I took the plunge.

And now I look 40.

Sweet.

Or like a news anchor wanna-be.

And I don't wanna be.

All jokes aside, I actually like it short. The friend who cut my hair did an awesome job. I love the cut and color.

But to go all you people who say, "Oh, short hair will be so much easier to take care of," you can kiss my butt with that big fat lie.

When your hair is too short for a pony tail, too short for a braid and even too short for a friggin' clip, there ain't nothing easy about it.

My day starts off with about a thousand different hair products, a regular brush, a hair dryer, a round brush, hot rollers, a rat tail comb, a flat iron and two kinds of hair spray.

Okay, not everyday.

More like two days a week.

I rock a hat the other five days.

And you know it's a desperate situation when all that's around is a camo hat and I am willing to put it on.

I think we all know my opinion on the use of camouflage as a fashion statement outside of hunting.