if my eight year old self could see what i did last week, she’d be shocked, slightly disturbed in fact.
you see, when i was seven years old, i sat my loosed-tooth self on my couch waiting to hear the soothing whirring sound of my mom’s car entering our driveway. it was the afternoon of my 1st grade class’ christmas pageant and she promised me a brand new hairstyle to present to my friends at the pageant. christmas tree patterned stirrup pants AND a new hair cut?! i was on cloud nine.
another detail to note, is that my mom is very well loved in my hometown. from a young age i always strived to get to the level of awesome my mom got to. she made grocery shopping so inconvenient, because she was stopped my admirers, left and right. i remember thinking that if i ever had more people approach me at the grocery store than my mom, then i would know i had reached my goal. i’ve only had this happen once, but you best believe i wrote down that date in my journal. keeping this in mind, being well liked usually meant that people always wanted to give her discounts or free things.
like the barber. who gave me a bowl cut. just a few short hours before my 1st grade christmas pageant.
i remember sitting in the sticky pleather barber chair prior to the cut, swirling myself around and around, not knowing what my fate would soon hold. as my nausea heightened with each spin of the barber chair, i couldn’t imagine anything ruining my day. the barber finally spun me away from the mirror, so i could only imagine what the chunks of hair flinging off of my head could possibly mean. after 20 minutes of agony, he spun me once again in the direction of the mirror. i looked up, and then quickly looked down at my hair-covered stirrup pants. why was there a little boy in a dress looking back at me, i thought to myself. i am going to cry really hard in this barber shop, i thought once more. me want honey comb, i thought at last.
i bawled the whole way home. i wailed and wailed until a mondo drink was in my hand. how could this happen to me? i was so close to looking like an olsen twin, that it was almost eery. now i looked nothing like one of the girls who would be invited to one of the olsen twin’s slumber parties or adventures that i always watched obsessively on vhs.and gosh darn it, i wanted to help the olsen twins escape from a volcanic eruption, and have a pizza party. i looked like my name would be mavis. or gertrude. whose family had a sofa set that was covered in plastic fabric protectors. who ate vienna sausages at lunch.
needless to say, my sassy pants 7 year old self still went to the christmas pageant. and my hair eventually grow out into a luscious white girl afro that provided much comic relief in middle school and high school. and like the photo above suggests, i have decided to go back to my bowl cut roots. except, this time the hair-wizards over at hair cuttery tamed my mane much better than the well-meaning barber friend of my mom .
and i adore it. i feel like a free woman. while my hair was my comfort as a seven and eight year old, cutting it off on a whim has been quite freeing. i feel like i am more in touch with the 8 year old who sassily did hand stands whenever possible. and didn’t care if her stirrup pants matched her dress that day.
and gosh darn it, i still do want honey comb.