Despite my previous misgivings about those night-thoughts, I’m getting a major haircut. The reason I’m making such a huge deal about this is because I’m one of those uber cautious people when it comes to my hair. Not about color, per se. I dye my hair so frequently I don’t actually know the precise natural color. I know it’s some weird shade of light brown, but I haven’t seen it in many moons. I’ve gone across the entire spectrum of colors, even once an alarming oddly tinted orange that was the result of a horrible home dyeing snafu.
But no. That’s not my variety of cautious. I’m cautious about length. I’m the kind of person who marches into the salon full of convictions, like, “Yes. Today is the day I’m going to chop off five inches and it’s going to be AWESOME.” Then when the stylist asks how short I want it, I lose all confidence. I stare into the mirror of destiny and I squeak something about four inches. She says, “What was that?” I couldn’t quite hear you,” and I whisper inaudibly, “Three inches,” and the process repeats until I am striding out of the salon with a trim that doesn’t even fully qualify as a haircut.
That is what happens most days. But this will not be that day.
ALSO! I need to post about the APOCALYPTOUR Road Trip, because despite my infrequent Tweets, I left a lot of (admittedly creepy) details out. Hint: things got creepy.