in which I again talk hair

It’s almost time yet again for me to get a hair trim, and I’m more than a little nervous. I’ve been noticing lately that my hair is *finally* getting back to the length where I want it. That’s right: let the record show that at this time I am purty near satisfied with my hair.

Oh, sure, it’s still terribly thin, and the practical thing to do would be to cut it short. If I had a cute, dainty face with cute, dainty features, this would be no problem. However, I have a big face – seriously, someone told me that and honestly, I can’t say that she lied – and it’s got square tendencies, and I *need* some hair to balance things out and soften those edges.

I did try a shorter ‘do for a while. (See March of last year.) When I first got it, I really liked it, even though for the longest time after that, whenever I’d see myself in the mirror, my first thought would usually be, “Oh, yeah, I *did* get a haircut!” My subsequent efforts to recreate the short, good ‘do were to no avail. Then I looked at some pictures of me with my hair a bit longer, and I thought, “Practical be darned, I looked SO much better then.”

So, I’ve been saying “just a trim” at the last couple of visits to the hairdresser, and now I think I’m about to like my hair’s length again. But what if it’s “trimmed” too short at the next visit? And it’s messed up for another six weeks, before it starts to grow out a bit and looks good and then the whole vicious cycle repeats?

I know that it’s ridiculous for me to obsess about this, although I don’t think I’m alone in my concerns. I heard that a notable percent of women in a survey admitted to calling in sick because they were having a Bad Hair Day. I haven’t yet gone that far … but I am tempted. I’ll see how the next trim goes.

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