I ponder a new Hairstyle

As I think I may have mentioned in passing, Strider is in residence. Because of this, I am having my hair chopped off tomorrow.


Strider is scared of hairdressers. She is pushing 30 and has had her hair cut by a professional only once before. Ever. That professional was my hairdresser, Niall. Even more eyebrow raising about this fact is that Strider is the girliest of girls. She won't change light bulbs because she is afraid of breaking a nail. That and she doesn't actually know how to. Seriously.


So, as soon as Mammy knew she was arriving for sure, she made Strider an appointment for a haircut. Strider's hair is very long. Down past her shoulder blades and she absolutely refuses to have any of the length cut off but is unable to explain why.

I, with my degree in cod psychology from the school of life, suspect it is because she has always had long hair; it is her defining feature. She clings to the idea of being a person with very long hair. Sadly, it isn't great. Her hair is very thin and a boring colour. Mind you, I have very dark brown hair which is going ginger from the evil UV rays so I can't talk.


We have tried to convince her to have it chopped to shoulder length and shaped nicely. She won't. She has ideas about having lowlights and highlights and the rest but Niall says it is a bad idea unless she looses the length.


To try and encourage her to think about hairstyles of shortness, I broached the subject of having mine done. My hair is very long. It is down past my shoulders and still layered from growing out the crop you can see in the ancient picture of me. It is also dementedly curly but not in a good way. Think Justin Hawkins.


Strider grew more enthusiastic. She lectured me on face shapes. I rakishly suggested a slinky 20s bob. She agreed it would look good.


I am more doubtful. I have a bob on my passport photo. I was 18 and it was in the days before we all had straightners and product. It was also in the days before you had to glare straight ahead so I have a sexy little smile and cheekbones. It expires soon and I will have to pay extortionate amounts to the embassy to get a new one.


I understand the transience of all things, especially hair. I began life with a comb-over which lasted until I was three. In the past I have sliced and diced my hair, dyed it weird colours and spent large amounts of time growing it out. I know that if it all goes horribly wrong there is always the option of a number two all over.


Anyway. The appointment is made. I will go in the chair first in an attempt to convince her that dramatically loosing 8 inches of hair is a good thing. If that fails, I will answer only to Bernice and finish the story as originally written.

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