Kojak In Drag

I was vain.  I am cured, at least temporarily.

It took twenty minutes and twenty dollars to subdue my vanity.  I am back to cowering in corners....well, not exactly....but you will understand, I think.  I got a haircut.

Ordinarily I get a pretty nice style--lots of fluffy layers frame my face, the silver tendrils caressing my eyebrows.  I've been wearing it short and flirty.  It takes six minutes to get ready for work.

Last week it took ten.  The silver tendrils looked more like antennae, sticking out every which-a-way.  The back was long enough to get caught in the clasp of my choker.  I opted for a cut from my trusted beautician.

She must have been in a bad mood, or she thought I was someone else.  Snip, snip became chop, chop.  Spritzing, spraying, scrunching.  I knew that she knew that I knew she had commited a grievous error.  No matter, when she was done it was cute.  Really, REALLY short, but cute.  It had a tousled look that I liked.  I even bought the styling product she used.  Just spritz and scrunch, she said.

Well, it is a few days later. I have washed and brushed.  I have spritzed and scrunched.  I still feel like a man.  My silver tresses are barely there.  My ears show.  I can't toss my bangs, or pull that sassy curl over my forehead.  I am tempted to wear a hat, or to buy a wig.

I don't feel pretty.  I don't feel feminine.  My friends try to appease me with, "your new look" or "what a difference!" when they mean, "AAAUUGGGHHH! What the hell did you do to your hair???"

The three-inch long earrings with the butterflies don't help.  I chose a lower-cut blouse and higher heels.  I look like Kojak in drag.

The weather is warmer; it got up to thirty-seven today.  My hair grows faster when it is warm...I hope.

In the meantime, I expect comments when I try to get in the ladies' locker room at the Y.  I can never remember the security code.  They might think it is a guy instead of me on the fitness machines using wimp weights.  And what will happen when I try on a bathing suit?  Will the clerk offer me trunks? My Pilates instructor, recently scalped herself, told me it looked cute.  The other instructor said, "tsk, tsk, tsk.  It will grow out, honey."

Anyway, I am humbled.  There will be no new Facebook pic until this grows out a bit.  There will be no flirting.  I see hats and wigs in my immediate future. And the next time I will call first to make sure my regular stylist is in a good mood.