I had a hair appointment this morning. I was running late, and I landed up going in the gray knit drawstring pants and old t-shirt I’d slept in. Yes, I realize that’s pathetic.
As I was getting my shampoo, I noticed a picture of a woman with a darling haircut on the wall. (Yes, there’s lots of those.) So, by the time I was in the chair for my cut, I’d decided I wanted that hair (actually, that entire head, if that’s possible). The stylist said I could certainly have that hair style, but it’d mean I was not getting my hair cut as that style was longer than my current one (which I picked out some months ago from a picture on the opposite wall).
So, once again, I’m in one of my transitional styles. I’ll apparently never learn. I acknowledged to the stylist that in a few months, I’d probably be pointing to the extremely short haircut on the opposite wall again, and getting all my hair cut off again. I’ll realize that having hair that’s not short means using complicated and time-consuming implements like a hairdryer.
But, for now, I have a short haircut growing out into a longer haircut.
