On the spur of the moment I got my hair cut on Friday. I dropped in to Suki's (South Granville) and asked for a walk in appointment with one of the, *ahem*, less expensive stylists. Oh yes, Amy was available to see me right away. Yeehaw, thought I.
I've been growing my hair out for a couple years now. It seems to grow at the rate of an inch a decade, even with very few haircuts in the interim. August 2005 was a bad scene as a stylist at the Beehive gave me horrible layers and essentially lopped off all my efforts at growing my hair long. To rectify the situation, I went to a different hair stylist and had the rest of the travesty cut off, leaving me back at stage one. Do not pass go, do not collect your complimentary hair ties. Finally, more than a year later, it seemed that my hair was actually reaching a length that someone describing me to another person might call 'medium length'. I was really starting to like the weight of all that hair and enjoyed putting it in different arrangements like braids. Well, as I said, I dropped in for a trim on Friday to a new stylist.
I feel shorn! On Friday, the stylist gave me horrible layers and I went back to her today (Sunday) to get her to cut the rest of the travesty off. Do I repeat myself? The Friday through Sunday cut has been dubbed Le Champignon for its uncanny resemblance to a mushroom. I'm no longer mushroom-head but damn my neck is cold!
Yes, it will grow back. Yes, it is merely hair. But I'm still upset. I haven't had long hair in over a decade, if ever, and I was excited to know that my folicles have the ability to grow past my shoulders. A number of trips coming up would have meant that my good peeps in far away places would have seen me with long hair - a first for many of them. Do they care? Confucius thinks no. Do I? Sniff, yes. As it stands I'll have to dig around for any pictures that might exist of my long locks.
The moral of this story is Friends Don't Let Friends Get Layers. Or maybe, since I was alone at the time, the moral is Just Say No To Layers. Or maybe, just maybe, the moral is Stop Giving a Damn About Your Hair, You Vain So and So, Suck It Up And Get Over The Layers.