This morning, filled with despair over the current state of my hair, I grabbed a pair of scissors and chopped several inches off the length. I don’t think I did too bad of a job, and besides, my hair is very curly. I can get away with uneven.
It made me recall though, a haircut years ago, when Amy was a baby, and I guess I’d read too many articles about the ease of super short hair for busy moms. My hair was shoulder length at the time, and I figured that getting a pixie cut would be just about as easy care as I could get. Are you sure? My hairdresser asked, with deeply furrowed brow. I assured her with a confident Yes! as visions of my cute pixie cut self-now transformed into the coolest mom on the block-ran through my head.
By the end of the haircut, I was probably in shock. The paramedics may even have been called. I don’t remember. Everything is a blur now, as it was then. Leaving the shop, I fought to keep the tears at bay, my pace brisk in hopes of getting home as quickly as possible before running into someone that I knew. And as for the haircut freeing me up to be super mom? Hardly. I must have spent hours in front of the mirror, trying to figure out a way to salvage what was left of my hair, and my self esteem, while Amy screamed for attention in the back ground.
Luckily, bad haircuts grow out.
So I think I did ok after all today, playing beauty parlor at home. I’m writing this, instead of standing in front of the mirror, obsessing over the damage I’ve inflicted on myself. But tell me. What was your epically worst haircut ever?