For those of you that have ever seen me, you know I have long hair. Like, really long hair. It’s so long, in fact, that nearly everyone I see right now says at some point, “Wow, your hair is really getting long.”
I’m smart enough to know this means one of two things:
- Wow, your hair is really getting long.
- Holy crap. You need to cut your hair. Look at those split ends!
Thankfully, it typically comes across as the former and sometimes even with a compliment. Yay for compliments (and for nice people!). A good friend even called me Rapunzel last weekend and then as I thought about it, I realized there was no way I was letting my hair hang out the window for some old witch. No.Way.
I realized how long my hair had gotten last week in Florida. Wait. What? I know! Connor and I went to Florida. I promise I’ll tell you all about it soon. Anyway … when we came in from beach and pool play and I tried to pull out my one, two, three ponytail holders, I found a mop of mess. It was torture to comb through. After I showered and it dried, it just didn’t get much better. I think the water and salty air combined for the fullest look I’ve ever had. And that’s not full (air quotes) in a good way.
The worst, though, was when we had an impromptu four-minute photo session one night. Connor loves to squeeeeze my neck every time we do a photo together. I don’t mind it most often so long as my face doesn’t smoosh (how does one spell smoosh? smush? smoush?) against his. That’s even less pretty. But during this session (in which I helped my mom get my camera about where we needed it), he kept wrapping his, what felt like, go-go gadget arm around my neck and suddenly, every hair on my head felt like it was being yanked out. Each time I had to stop him. “Whoa, hold on buddy. You’re pulling my hair.” I would say a hee-yah and attempt to address the situation (while simultaneously beginning to sweat more in the evening heat). Ultimately, his arm still wound up around my neck, but there were a few shots that made me smile so much. Goodness gracious I love that kid (even when he smooshes my face). For the record … he kissed me!
So, I would like to cut my hair. I realize (and have admitted to friends) that my hair is a security blanket of sorts. I can pull it up and over my face if I want to hide. I’m not actually related to Cousin It but I look sort of similar. Wait. Because ‘it’s’ name is Cousin It, does that mean we’re related by default? Hmm, interesting thought to consider. I fear cutting it will expose more of me in some way … like a part I don’t want to be seen. But the longer I let it grow, the scarier it’s going to get and the more it’s going to hurt when Connor squeezes my neck for photos.
Here’s where you come in. I want help. I am asking for input. How should I cut this mop? What would look good on me? I’d love to be able to donate so I know a good chunk will have to come off (it would actually be my third time!), but that also doesn’t mean I can chop my hair to pixie style. Homie don’t do pixie style. There is nothing in my nature that says pixie.
I’d love to see some pins or links (for those of you that don’t know the beauty that is Pinterest) to help guide me in the right direction. I know some of you have amazing sense when it comes to these hair-y situations and I readily admit that I am not one of those people. Please. Do it for Cousin It. I’ll collect your feedback and force myself to make the cut. It will always grow back, right? Right?!