Thursday, July 19, 2012

Scratching the Surface and Causing an Eruption

I've been growing my hair out for about a year. It seems to like to grow alot, although it's unruly and wavy. Oddly, no gray hair that's noticeable to others. At one point, I felt like coloring it gray, because I felt like I had earned it.

I prefer my hair short, really, but I was getting a little bored, and I know my spouse likes how I look with my hair longer, so I thought I'd give it a try. Growing it out hasn't been as painful as it should have been. I did all the right things - trim it up every 5-6 weeks, keep it all neat and tidy. Now that it's chin-length, right where I thought I wanted it, now it's very difficult. Because every goddamn time I look in the mirror, I see the evil grandmother, and then I see my own mother. I look like people I hate to be reminded of. This is a kick in the head.

I tell the spouse last night that I think the hair is going to have to go and why. He looked a little sad, and he said, "I don't know why you think you look like her." He meant the evil grandmother, because I didn't say I saw my mother in the mirror then. I was upset that he doesn't get it and left the room before having a snit with a perfectly well-meant comment. But he never met the grandmother, and he doesn't really know. His family has its fucked-up aspects, but he has lovable parents and had lovable grandparents, and I just don't think he can imagine how I feel about this.

Now I wish I had made an appointment to get it cut and not given him a chance to put his two cents down. Now I'll feel guilty when I cut my hair, because he likes it, and I gave him another chance to verbalize that he doesn't understand why I don't want to keep it. I don't want him to feel like it's personal to him when I cut my hair. And now I'm really pissed because it's my head and my hair and I have to live with it. Even though he never gave me a guilt trip about the hair, even though I'm the one that made the choice to grow it out.

I am fucked up over goddamn hair.


  1. How many "comments" did you hear as a child about this SAME "issue?" Mine decided one night at the dining room table my bangs were too long (read stylish) and yanked my 13 yr. old self off the chair by said bangs and drug me to the kitchen sink by my hair, on my knees and proceeded to cut what she hadn't successfully yanked out of my head so short they stood up. Bess, it's YOUR hair. And growing it out can be a pain. I found that short hair doesn't work for me-it's too much product, too much work and too time consuming. By the time I was thirty everyone seemed to think I should cut it off and have it permed, teased, sprayed etc. into submission. I always wore it up in a distinctive rope braid and it stayed neat no matter what I was doing. There were the questions, "WHAT do you LOOK LIKE with your hair DOWN?" (sigh) Which of course was MORE "ammo" for the "Cut-It-Off" crowd, because I always wore it "up." Yes, my late DH saw it down and he didn't care WHAT I did with my hair: "I didn't marry your HAIR, I married YOU."
    And all these years later, it's still up in a braid. And once again, it's YOUR hair.

  2. Bess, Sorry I went off on a tangent there. Yk, the last time I was in Psychob's presence she was about my age now. Guess who I see when I look in the mirror??! I really get this. (sigh) And outside of plastic surgery there isn't anything I can DO about it. I've tried looking in the mirror and I look like me. Then I put my glasses on to really see what's up and it's not only disappointing, but rather shocking. I'd avoid mirrors completely if I could but I learned my lesson about that 10 yrs. ago:
    I took my S/M and a few of her friends out to lunch at a lovely restaurant. We were seated in the middle of the Dining Room and after we ordered I excused myself to go to the Ladies Room. Much to my surprise-and lack of preparedness-I had started my period. Wads of TP later and as good a "clean up" as possible I washed my hands and left to return to our table.
    Yk that low murmur of conversation, the tinkling of glasses, discrete sounds in a nice place? All the tables were full and people were waiting in the Lobby area to be seated. I traipsed down the hall from the Ladies Room, across the Lobby, into the Dining Room and as I was making my way to our table it became very....quiet. People were...looking at ME...and kind of whispering and giggling behind their hands. As I approached our table, my S/M was gesturing frantically and mouthing at me to look down. Huh? Just as I reached the table, our waiter had already pulled my chair out and I smiled and said, "Thank You!" to this...odd look on his face. The ladies at our table were looking very uncomfortable. I glanced down and oh shit....there was a trail of shame attached to my heel, winding back across the Dining Room, disappearing into the Lobby and gawd knows how far "back." I bent down to remove the TP and thought momentarily of just crawling under the table but that wouldn't work. Now the Dining Room is completely silent except for the back ground music. I straightened up, looking as if I had a hullava sunburn that started somewhere around my ankles and migrated up to my "on fire" ears and face. I did a half-assed curtsey/bow kind of thing and the diners started to...clap! The smirking waiter graciously removed the rest of the TP from the rest of the Dining Room...back into the Lobby and also disappeared from sight. That was the looongest lunch of my life. I never drink at lunch and I was driving. I ordered a drink (a double) from the still smirking waiter. In fact, I essentially drank my "lunch." Quickly.
    Moral of the story: Mirrors-and glasses-are a necessity. Just because you LOOK like her doesn't mean you ARE her. We can't do a damn thing about how the DNA shakes out in the mating process and even if you have private Health Insurance I don't believe they pay for cosmetic surgery. Just because Psychob and I came in a similar "wrapping" doesn't mean I AM "her." No matter how hard she tried to mold me into her "Mini-MEEE!" she was woefully unsuccessful.
    And I consider THAT one of my greatest "accomplishments." ;) I do believe my long hair is the result of that event at the Dining Room table. Her's was short, permed/teased/lacquered/tinted/colored/sprayed to withstand a cat 5 hurricane once a week at the "Beauty Parlor."
    Little One, you're NOT her-no matter what the mirror says. So cut it or leave it, what ever you wish. DH married YOU, remember?
    Please let us know what you decide. I really do get this, I ever.

  3. TW, your mother dragged you by your bangs on your knees... oh how evil.

    So far I don't look like anyone in my family. Which allows me to keep up the silly hope that I was actually switched at birth in the hospital. Even my rare blood type is an anomaly. I am covered with freckles. Neither parent nor any of my 6 siblings ever had freckles. I look like a spotted leopard-lion mix, with my thick wild frizzy long hair. It's me and no one else, and I'm grateful for small favors.

    Love your toilet paper trail story, TW!