"Flow it, show it, long as God can grow it, (I think I'll cut) my hair!"
By Jamie Miles
Men fixate on their wallets. Women fixate on their hair. So that explained the flip-flop in my stomach while on the phone with my husband as I traveled to Petals Salon for my usual ten-week trim. My husband adamantly suggested, “I want to be able to tell you got your hair cut. Get it shorter – like when we got married. Do it!”
I found myself staring in the mirror while Beth Cathey foiled my hair. “John wants something different.” Every haircut, I pondered changing my look but ultimately decided, “Maybe next visit.” Well, seems “next visit” arrived for as I sat there radiating foils and hair dye, I received another call from my suddenly very insistent husband, “Is it done? Is it shorter?”
“Beth, he’s weirdly serious.” Beth looked me in the eye and wisely counseled, “Well, be thankful that he wants to see you with a different haircut, rather than seeing someone different wearing your haircut.” Hmm. And I had worn my hair a lot shorter, just not within the last decade.
Beth cut a little. I nodded, “More.” She cut further and I added, “Layers.” Her scissors made zigs-and-zags that looked like humongous pinking shears got a hold of my head. (That’s when I became slightly scared.) There was a flurry of blowing activity and then Beth rested. It was great, but different. A decade’s worth of different.
What would my husband and children say? To put it mildly, the children freaked. Joe wailed, “Mommy, get your hair back!” Then I peeked in on my daughter and she grimaced, “You are not our Mommy. Stay away from Daddy.” Later she continued her shower of compliments, “You are not Mama. You are a burglar!” I chose to think she meant a lithe, elegant Pink Panther jewel thief rather than a grizzled, hardened, chain-smoking, white T-shirt wearing lifer sporting new highlights and layers. Her critique only worsened, for when my husband and I were going out she suggested, “No one is going to recognize you. Oh, maybe they will by your clothes.” By my clothes? Had I really worn this top that much? I considered changing, but no. Newly shorn, shorter hair gals wore confidence. They certainly didn’t entertain insecure notions such as, “Who is draped by the blouse that Jamie Miles has worn to every church, ball field, Cultural Center or school function for the past five (maybe six) years?”
My husband loved my new 'do, but curiously, he agreed with our daughter’s burglar characterization of my new look. Though he decided Beth’s hair creation was much more Cat Woman rather than international diamond thief. And, I guess there’s nothing left to say on this silly haircut subject; except maybe, “Meow.”