Hair Today, Shorn Tomorrow
For those of us who loved the musical "Hair"
I wish I'd had a camera. To take pictures of the mountains of hair in the room. The Head Room that is. Voted # 1 hair salon in Canada at some point.
I gave this a lot of thought. And sought out no one else's opinion on this momentous change I was making to my own head. My hair was down to my waist and worn basically in a bun all the time. A bun is not conducive to walk training. And to wash this hair was beginning to aggravate me. Combing it out. Drying it. Not that the thickness was there anymore. I was losing my long hair at a really frightening rate. And the pins holding it up were hurting me.
So I mulled things over for about a week. And thought to myself, find an expert on older heads, pay the money - you old cheapskate you, and get a proper job done.
And I did. My original suggestion of wanting a Helen Mirren was met with disbelief but fortunately not with outright laughter. I can be sensitive. Squelch that fantasy under my left trainer. She requested I leave it to her. She hacked the first bunch of hair off me before she washed it. Customers and other staff (the Head Room is in a very old house in St. John's, full of fireplaces and nooks and crannies and staircases, I just love the place) visited the mounds of hair on the floor and gasped rather gratifyingly at what I had shed.
The end of the two hour session had me seriously admiring myself. I was delighted with my hair colour (no colour assists, we decided my natural colour was rather beautiful)and the cut was short, not too short, but completely manageable and falls nicely, thank you very much, even without blow-drying or painstaking styling for which I've never had the time or even a faint desire to make the time.
The very best, the absolute very best, was when I met a bunch of friends for dinner and when I walked into the pub they all went "Oh. My. God. - you've knocked 10 years off yerself!"
I'm obviously not quite ready to crone out just yet.