My birthday was Monday. I took the day off of work and went shopping with my sister but didn’t find anything. On a related note, I plan to email most of the clothing stores I frequent and ask them why they don’t stock clothes that real-sized, quasi-professional women can wear, opting instead to focus on choices more suitable for size-zero twelve-year-olds.
On Tuesday, I returned to work to discover that someone I’d confided my age to last week announced it in Monday’s meeting. It seriously bummed me out that suddenly everyone knew, and like that. Sure, I knew when I confessed it that everyone would probably know before too long, and I thought I was ready for it, but when people are saying, “Wow, you look good for your age!” … ouch.
Even more than that pseudo-compliment (“Wow, you don’t look old, even though you really, really are!!”), I hate for people to try to put me in some box based on who they think I should be at this age. “She’s blah-di-blah years old, and she’s not married yet? What’s wrong with her?” or “Whoa, at her age, she’s just starting a career? What’s she been doing all this time?”
I especially did not need salt on that particular wound after yet another bad haircut on Monday. I really thought I had a safe plan to ensure success with my hair trim, too: I was going to ask for a trim of one-half inch, and then casually pick the stylist’s brain for new ‘do ideas “for next time.” I kept my resolution of trying a new salon, but the stylist was so busy training someone on the cash register that she didn’t have much time for me at all, nor did she seem to care. She did trim the back like I asked, but then she butchered my bangs, cutting them too short and straight across which looks TERRIBLE with my face shape.
I’ve *really* got to find a picture to show what I want. The thing about that is, the person in the picture probably has gorgeous thick hair to begin with, so their current style probably wouldn’t work with my hair on its best day. I’m hoping that at some point, I’ll get a decent cut, so I can take pictures, and then I’ll know it can work for me. Maybe at the very least I should take pictures of my hair with what I *don’t* want it to look like.
In any event, it didn’t take long until I reverted back to my normal “loving that I’m not ‘normal'” self. As far as age is concerned, I don’t think I could be any age or have done any thing that some small-minded person couldn’t find a criticism for. As for my hair, I figure that I won’t like it in any ‘do until it grows a bit, so I’m embracing the change by trying a new hairstyle or two. I don’t think the one today was too well-received by my co-workers, but whatever. Maybe they’ll appreciate my old style more, when it returns. I know I will.