My bipolar coiffure

I have a love-hate relationship with my hair. I’m smart enough to recognize that the quantity and thickness of my hair is a good thing. But when it comes to styling … well, let’s just say I’ve got Attention Deficit Disorder.

There are women I know, good friends of mine in fact, who have had the same hairstyle for more than a decade. Not me. I need to mix it up a bit. Can’t be wed to any one style for too long without itching to change.

Sometimes the need grows out of finances – as in I don’t have the money required for upkeep of a short ’do. Other times it’s out of sheer laziness that I’ve allowed my hair to grow. “Has it really been six months since I had a haircut?”

I guess I could consider myself lucky because my tresses are naturally wavy and that affords me a little built-in versatility. Do I wear it straight? Or curly? And when it’s longer, as it is now: Do I wear it up? Or down?

I’ve let my hair go now for quite a spell more out of forgetfulness to schedule an appointment than anything else. By the time I thought of calling to schedule a hair appointment, summer was upon us. And summer affords a certain ease with longer hair that I can let go curly at the pool or wherever.

And so…my hair is a curly mop of shoulder-length hair, not that many have seen its actual length because in this heat I pull it all back into a ponytail because I can’t stand to have hair on the back of my neck or in my face.

One of my girlfriends asked if I trim my own ends when I go for long spells without a haircut. The answer is no. I never put scissors to my own hair (brings back memories of a bad hair experience in college). I just let it go, split ends and all.

But I’ve reach maximum frustration with the old coiffure. ‘Tis time for a change. I love to change styles—frequently. It’s been a lifelong thing for me, as evidenced by school photos. One year long, one year short, next year long, next year short. I suppose I’m fortunate in that I don’t have curls incapable of being tamed into a smooth ’do (except in this humidity). And I don’t have poker straight hair lacking bend without the assistance of a curling iron (which I’ve not owned since high school).

I like change and I like it to be noticeable. And when I decide I want to make a hair change, I don’t like to wait six weeks to get in to see my stylist. Imagine my jubilation when I called last week to try to get in before I head to Chicago later this summer when the receptionist said my stylist was available this Thursday. A week! I could get in to see her in only a week!

So of course I’ve talked of nothing else to my girlfriends. “Have I mentioned I’m finally getting my hair cut this week?”

Until recently, I’d gone to the same stylist for 15 years. She knew that when I came in and said, “Let’s cut,” I didn’t mean a quarter-inch at a time. No sir, when I make up my mind to go short again, I mean to see a difference. But she’s now owner of the salon I patronize and has cut back on her cutting hours. So I’ve found another I like who, I think, appreciates my willingness to experiment.

My hubby, who contrary to most men loves my hair short probably more than long (“because I can see your face”), also wants to see a difference, particularly given the expense of my haircuts. “Did you get it cut?” he’ll ask. (I reminded him how good he has it because he has only sons.)

I also remind him that my decision to cut my hair once again will require more frequent trips to the salon, hence more cash spent on the wife. But, as a wise friend of his recently said, “If it makes her feel good, it’s worth the money.”

Of course this haircut is only the first stop at the salon. Mon Dieu am I in need of a highlight! That will have to wait until next pay period. Wouldn’t want to put the old fella into cardiac arrest when he looks at the bank statement.

“You spent how much at Bella Capelli?!”