Sometimes You Feel Like a Mullet
If you wake up on a Saturday morning and your hair has been cut in a mullet, you just know. You don't have to look in the mirror. You may not even need to run your fingers through your hair. You just feel different.
You may feel the need to play a couple of periods of hockey to get your blood circulating or maybe you just want to consume large amounts of pork rinds before scavenging for spare headlights in your front yard. Either way, you'll know.
Because of my New Year's resolution to spice up my hair-do, I excitedly accepted the offer to join Karli's hosted haircutting hullabaloo with my favorite stylist. Katie periodically comes out to the home of a local mom and cuts/colors everyone's hair while we watch each other's kids. She's awesome and charges a pittance when we get a group together.
My last cut was a damage control chop-job to cut down on the mental anguish caused by seeing large chunks of my hair fall to the shower floor each morning….that I showered.
So this time, I wanted to do something really fun. I decided I wanted my hair highlighted and cut to look something like this. What I really meant was that I wanted a team of stylists to come live at my house and make my hair look like this every morning.
As Katie was cutting away, she said, "I know you're sort of a low maintenance hair person (understatement of the year) so I'm not cutting your hair exactly like that picture. If I did that, it would end up looking sort of like a mullet. I'll make the layers a bit longer and give you fewer bangs."
Ack! Bangs! Were those bangs in that picture? This was all too scary. Although there was no mirror in the kitchen, I closed my eyes for the remainder of the cut.
When she finished blow drying and styling, it actually looked pretty great, despite the fact that I was repeatedly blowing the sexy messy bang chunk out of my eyes, my lower lip extended.
Driving home, I had the thought, "I may never be able to make it look like this again. I should drive to all my friends' houses to show them that it was a cute cut once." I resisted the urge and I regret that decision.
As soon as I woke up this morning, scratching my hairy pot gut, I knew it. I now have a highlighted mullet.
I don't blame the stylist. She tried to warn me and fix my mistake. I know she will see me through this. I think I mainly blame Liz for suggesting that I come up with resolutions this year.
It actually may be a very nice cut. I'm just not good at hair. I'm not good at doing it or having it, really, in anything but the most basic style.
At least the highlights don't look like zebra stripes. They are my first and I will always be able to look back on them fondly.
The first time I got layers was not nearly so fortunate. My sister was using me as an experiment to learn how to cut layers and when she finished, I distinctly remember crying and bawling, "I look like David BOWIE… in Labyrinth!"
But that grew out. I suppose this will too. Until then, I've got me some monster-truck-rally tickets to buy.
Update: Karli has just promised to instruct me in the feminine art of hair care and styling. We shall see what kind of pupil I make.