You aren’t cheating on your stylist if you cut your own hair
Today I googled, “How to cut your own hair.”
Is it just me or is 35 too early for a mid-life crisis?
Maybe I just feel undeservingly young. They don’t ask for my driver’s license when I buy boxed wine. Perhaps it’s merely because I’m buying boxed wine. Yeah, that probably gives my age away, not my features. I’ll go with that.
I’m one of those women who feels selfish because she hasn’t caught baby fever yet. I think I had a bit of it back in college — yeah there was a short time when I walked through the baby aisle at Walmart, smelled the baby smells, and caught a bit of the fever.
Anywho, I’m going through some kind of crisis.
I was a career woman…I mean all the way. Because I worked hard through college, interned (fo’ free by the way) and got my dream job — I thought it was at least.
After two months, I quit out of sheer misery and the inability to brave any more torturous meetings about meetings.
No job in sight. Meh, for some reason, my give a damn busted last year.
I am obsessed with taking control over my life, not that I know how to do that. But, I am sick of feeling like I am at the mercy of others.
Maybe that is what attracted me to essential oils in the first place. I felt like I was always at the mercy of the system and I wanted to find a way to take care of my body without spending an arm and leg.
The same thing goes for my hair, why do I have to spend so much to get my hair cut?
Wait, I don’t.
Just the thought of having to go to a hairdresser and PAY her to give me a trim that I will undoubtedly hate — and complain to my poor husband about for at minimum a week — makes me puke in my mouth. I can’t fucking cut my own hair? Come on, woman.
So, what did I do when I needed a haircut? I cut my own damn hair. Not in the oh-my-god-she-finally-lost-it kind of way — in a thoughtful way, and it felt amazing!
A few short Youtube videos later, I grabbed my long locks, and the shears I use to groom my dogs (yeah, yeah, I washed it thoroughly) and took an inch off.
The satisfying feeling of that sharp scissors cutting through my split ends was fantastic.
I quickly let my hair loose from the pony on top of my head and let my mane fall. I styled it myself, ran to the living room, and began trotting around in front of my husband, “I cut my own hair, honey!”
He loved it and said he couldn’t even tell. Well, to be fair, it was only an inch. But give me a break, that’s all I ever truly ask for at the salon and I always feel a cold-shock rush through my body when I see the piles of hair under my chair. So, this was perfect.
By cutting my own hair, I gave myself just a teeny bit of self-confidence and control over something in my life. It may be a small thing, but it’s a start!
By the way, I pluck my greys out one at a time. Yeah, I’m still young.