Note to self: Never get depressed and cut your bangs.
Unfortunately, this is not a new lesson.
I hate my hair cut. My hairdresser is delightful. And she did it just how I wanted it the last time she cut it. This time, I showed her the same picture. But somehow, she looked at it and translated it into the short haircut she does on dozens of old ladies. Not what I wanted.
My hair grows fast, which minimizes how long I have to be irritated every time I look in the mirror. So far, it’s not growing out as well as I hoped it would.
I may go off professional haircuts. What difference does it make? It seems like my hair is a disaster no matter what I do. Maybe I’ll grow it out and be one of those old ladies with long, gray hair pulled back in a braid.
No one ever accused me of being stylish in my best days.
When I cut off my braid years ago, people said that my new short haircut made me look much younger. Now, even with my hair short, no one says I look younger. I’ve reached a certain point where I look like a grandma. With grandkids who are in college. No matter what my hair looks like, my face tells the truth.
I don’t mind being an old lady. There are perks to being older. People expect a lot less of you. When you do something normal, it impresses them. And if your bangs run uphill, your buttons are buttoned crooked, and you have a dab of chocolate syrup on your chin (not from drinking from the chocolate syrup bottle, I assure you), it’s just an old lady thing.
Off I go into my day with uneven bangs.
Welcome to my world.