So earlier this week I booked in for a trim and regrowth touch up. And then in a fit of whimsy I decided at 3pm this afternoon that I was going in for a big change.
I vascillated between excited and nervous all afternoon…seeking advice from Reece, my mother and then Reece again while I contemplated a life with a blunt fringe.
Then Reece threw me a curve ball…”If you are going for the fringe I think it will look better shorter”.
Hmmm…well up until now shorter wasn’t really in the equation. But he got me thinking and well, it’s nigh impossible to pull me back once you get me started.
So this is the end result…I now have hair that is way too edgy for me, will most probably be hideous when left curly and necessitated the rushed purchase of special equipment to maintain, namely a brush and straightening iron.
Despite the warning signs, I LOVE it. I’m in that phase of new hair when you keep finding shiny surfaces to stare at yourself in. I pout, and then grin, and then pout all over again. Pullling my “perfect” model pout…because really, hair this good deserves a model pout. It probably also deserves a model body but let’s not take things too far…
Example A of poorly executed model pout
The funniest part though was my hairdresser Mary. She was a little stunned when I asked for a radical change, particularly cos last time I told her that more than 1cm cut off the ends was simply too much.
What bothered her the most though was that my husband married me with long hair and in her opinion I was moving the goal posts. “But won;t he be so disappointed. Men love long hair, they don’t love women with short hair.”
Somehow I think Reece will still keep me. Even though I am clearly breaking my marriage covenant.
mamacita mahns 