I got my hair cut last night.
Sunday night, we were watching the old movie of “Nanny McPhee” when the cook was yelling at the children (You know, as cooks trying to get dinner ready are wont to do). “Look, Mommy, she looks like you!” laughed my daughter. This is Mrs. Blatherwick, the cook from Nanny McPhee.
Yes, my hair was up in a scrunchie. Yes, I had been writing in my office and then biking and doing upteen jillion loads of laundry. No, I had not showered. And yes, I knew then, that it was indeed, time to get my hair cut after a six month wait.
Every woman has her “thing” that she likes. For me, it’s my hair (we won’t talk about my weight, my skin, or my eyelashes, but hair… I’ve always liked my hair). It’s thick and sortof wavy and until the last few years, light brown with gold highlights and pretty much does what it’s told. Now, it has swatches of gray and I live in the most humid place on earth, which makes it frizzy, and I’m teaching 8am classes, so I am just not getting up at 5:00 to blow it dry and smooth and perfect and who has time for all of that? It was time for a ‘do.
So, I went. I went and got my hair cut and conditioned and highlighted and gooped and blown dry and gooped and ironed. All total- it took 3 hours. Now, it looks a bit more like this….
Other than my wrinkles, and my definitely-not-yoga body and the I-won’t-tell-you-how-many-more-pounds, and my lack of makeup and my nose… yea, that’s me. I’m having a good hair day.
There are three problems- which I realize aren’t really problems, but are still challenges to this positive self-image thing that I’m rockin’. The first is that I will have to wash my hair. Probably not today, and maybe not even tomorrow, but soon. The quantity of products on my hair are weighing it down and it’s a moment before greasy at this point. The second thing is that I live in the world’s most humid place. And there’s a hurricane hovering off of our coast. It’s moist. At some point, I will have to go outside, when my hair will arise and form a Brillo pad.
The last issue is that my husband LOVES it. Not just likes it, but loves it. As in, I got an extra-passionate, like-the-old-days kiss from him this morning. I understand that any man prefers Jennifer Aniston to Mrs. Blatherwick, but the effort it takes to create one from the other is… oy. Let us remember that it look my hairdresser three hours to do this- and she’s a professional! Me- I am an amateur. And there really is no middle ground here- it’s either Jennifer or Blatherwick.
But there is perhaps another reason I might (beyond the promise of more kisses) try to re-create Jennifer more than once every six month. When I arrived home and was brushing out my daughter’s silky, lustrous hair for school pictures, she said “Look, Mommy. We have the same hair”, and held my now-lighter tresses against hers where you could not tell where one lock of hair ended and another lock began.
Locks of love, indeed.
And when you see me as Mrs. Blatherwick, please try to remember that with, oh about 4-5 hours worth of work, there is Jennifer Aniston hair waiting to come out. And really, don’t we ALL have a hidden movie star somewhere?