The Long and Short of It

A deep, violent storm has been raging within me. Yes, inside this placid, smiling, suburban woman has lurked the heart and soul of a daring adventuress, stalled by circumstance, bad luck and ennui. What can help our heroine, she with the lofty ideals and intentions but crappy follow through and dashed enthusiasm? Only one thing, one possible hope to summons the force. A haircut!
Do I have your attention? Okay, time for a sad confession. In spite of my brave and completely hopeful pledge to think more kindly of myself, I failed. Sort of epically. Those bad voices in my head would not be silenced. I was truthfully ashamed of myself, which didn’t make things any easier. Adding to that wave of negativity, I had one of those super depressing job interviews this week, where I drove 35 miles to meet with a recruiter, who not only was running late, hadn’t taken the time to read the writing samples she had requested from me the week before, seemed totally indifferent to me, and worst of all, gave me about 12 minutes of her time. I was bumming pretty hard.
But since I am always trying, if not succeeding, to look on the sunny side of the street, I decided I needed a sort of radical change, a physical shift of the kaleidoscope. According to Coco Chanel, “a woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life.” So I started googling hairstyles. Did you know you can actually google “cute short curly hairstyles for fat faces”? You totally can! So I text messaged a bunch of short curly “round” faced hairstyles to my style guru (aka my sister) and armed with the selected picture, I took myself to my stylist. And she was hesitant at first, lovely woman that she is, she is a bit change adverse. But I was like, hell, do it. If I hate it, it will grow back. And so she did.
I left the salon feeling lighter than air, with a very sassy short little do. I was fresh, alive! I sent my sis a picture. Cute, she said! So chic! Me? Chic? Who could have thought? And then I got home. And this happened:
6:00: So cute, so perky. I love it!
7:15: Wait, didn’t my Mom have this haircut?
8:30: (while watching Saving Mr. Banks) Wait, does Emma Thompson have my haircut?
9:25: OMG, I have Nellie Olsen’s haircut!
10:15: I hate it! I look like a boy!
10:20: It will grow, it will grow, it’s just hair.
10:45 Hmmmm, maybe it’s cute?
11:10: I should totally start wearing makeup
Now it’s been a day. I’ve passed through all the stages, denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I’m still feeling kind of invigorated by the cut. My sister has assured me I don’t look like my mother. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. And I’m really hoping that Coco knew her shit, and that this bold new look will help usher in other changes. Or at least help me be more truthful to my intentions of trying to feel better about myself. And tonight, when I go out, I’m going to put on a little makeup, fluff up my short curly locks, and try to feel beautiful. And if I don’t completely succeed, I’m going to award myself 10 points for trying. And sooner or later, I’ll get there.
The end, for now


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