Having only recently ‘moved over to Blondesville,’ our columnist has now changed her hair dramatically by taking a ‘short cut’ – after much soul-searching, she finally told her stylist to sharpen her scissors and get cropping, while ordering a coffee with a side order of valium (for our columnist, not the stylist)….read on…
May I take this timely opportunity to apologise to all you lovely, luscious blondes for abandoning you and reverting back to my natural brunette barnet? Thanks; appreciate it. Now I know I only moved over to Blondesville a short while ago, but I was beginning to look like a cross between an aging cheerleader-in-chief and Satan’s Mistress, and so it just had to go.
I don’t know readers, maybe it’s my hormones; my fiery mood swings are legendary in the People’s Republic of the Kerins’ gaff – and recently I decided a blonde, flowing mane just didn’t quite tone in with the aul hot flushes – and made a decision to have it all chopped off.
Eh, now, relax the kacks there, I didn’t quite emulate screw-up fairy Twitney Spears and take a razor to it; it’s not military short but it is Pixie short. Mind you, I did do endless amounts of research before I took the plunge. In fact, it’s probably fair to say, more examination, scrutiny, exploration, in-depth analysis, soul-searching and polling of pi%&ed off friends through texts and Facebook messages and stalking family members through ‘phone calls went into my decision to have my long locks cropped into a more fashionable Pixie style than actually went into the wording of the marriage equality referendum. I kid you not!
I even pestered and harassed he-who-nearly-lost-the-will-to-live as to what he thought about my tonsorial plight; ya know, just to pretend he actually had a say in the matter and got the poor man’s stock reply when discussing the thorny subject that had become my ‘will I, won’t I, dilemma?’ which is always a cautious, “what answer would you like me to give you darling?” But the deed is now done and he says he loves it…perhaps he’s too afraid to say otherwise? Naah.
You see – and female readers will agree with me here, I hope – life is an endless struggle for us girlies; full of frustrations and challenges. Life not only begins at 40, ok 50; it also begins to show at 50 but eventually you manage to find a hairstylist you can trust. Mine is a wonderful local girl who cannot only whip up a colour to complement those dark roots and liver spots; she can also do a snazzy, stylish, uber-chic Pixie cut to boot.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, I loved the long blonde do; I did. However the heavy bleaching with the visible root growth, the twenty minutes of tedium it took to work the shampoo and conditioner followed by the intense hot oil treatments through it; the knots, Oh God the knots, the hour it took to section and blow dry it, the heated rollers, the GHD, the smell of burning hair and, having done all of that, the resorting to tying it up into a ponytail or an old-fashioned Gibson Girl bun with the finished result making me look like an aging, peroxide-dependent, power puff canary; a fact that occurred to me one day when I took a long, hard look at myself and my over-processed hair in the mirror and agreed that the hooker hairdo, dragged through a weed whacker finesse I’d been sporting for too long, had now passed its glory days and the cost of maintaining it was, like my former waist-length lank locks, growing by the month.
“Why don’t you go for a nice bob,” texted my hair stylist No 1 daughter. “Yes mam, a nice bob,” echoed No 2 adding, unnecessarily I thought, “sure you’re too small for such a big mad head of hair and the blonde is just aging you.” The ‘too small’ I could understand, I’m merely 5” to her 5’ 10” frame, but I could have done without the catty ‘aging’ remark.
And so, armed with all my courage, I took myself off to the salon and told my stylist to chop it off! Now please don’t think I’m vain or suffering from delusions of adequacy here, because I’m not. Like most women of a certain age, I often tend to feel decidedly the opposite, inadequate, and my hair had become my security blanket, and as I felt my stylist, who’d asked me several times if I was “absolutely sure?’ cut off more than a foot of hair with a heavy plop and hold it up for me to see, even popping it into a paper bag for me to take home as a trophy, I went deathly pale, gasped out loud, put my hand over my mouth, and nearly had a panic attack.
“Get a bob, you’ve enough left for a nice bob,” she hurriedly advised and that advice is what made me stop dead in my tracks. Why did everyone want me to get a ‘nice bob?’ I mean, I know I’m no spring chicken girls, but I’m hardly sitting in God’s waiting room now am I, so why would I opt for the ‘safe, sensible mammy bob option,’ as I call it.
Now that is no disrespect to those lovely ladies (and men) who wear their hair in a bob, I’m sure it’s fab on you and you rock it, but you see, it’s not for me. I’m an all or nothing loony; besides, a bob would just make me look like a forehead with teeth and so I decided not to have the ‘official’ haircut of the menopausal matriarch and instead told my stylist to sharpen her scissors and get cropping, and yes, I’d have that coffee now please with a side order of Valium if she had any because if I ended up looking like a little dude I’d need something to numb the pain.
However, I love my dramatic physical change and so does my adorable hubby, who excitedly declared, “you should never let your hair grow again, it’s much sexier short, I love it;” and I agree. However, even though I polled and pestered everyone, I did make the decision to channel my inner Pixie to please ME and only ME, meaning I’m thrilled with my new do. It makes me feel good and that’s what counts! I did offer to donate my hair to charity in the hope it could be used by a wig maker for those experiencing hair loss due to medical treatment or alopecia; sadly, as it had been chemically treated, as in it was toxic at this stage, it was deemed to be unsuitable.
If any readers wish to follow my hairspiration and get the chop and want to donate their hair to charity, log onto www.rapunzelfoundation.com for more information.
