Did I say Tuesday? Did I say Tuesday would be the day I would panic and dig through 17 bags of hair accessories, searching for the bandanas that would fix my hair in place? I meant Monday.
I got it cut in November. And every few weeks I have been guilty of thinking, “wow, that was a great haircut. It has been X weeks and I still don’t feel like I need another haircut.” It has been growing, yes, but it has not been overgrown. It was a great haircut. I had it cut at Vixen Hair Studio in Victoria, in case you are curious. Not in New West. I am too scared to get my hair cut in New West anymore.
Just kidding! New West is chock full of professional haircuttery!
Last Thursday I went swimming instead of going to CORE YOGA, which is a great class, way better than WORKOUT LITE but it starts at 8:30 which means it ends at 9:30. I had gone on Tuesday evening and was awake till 10:30 and then up again at 5:45 AM and that day? I could not function even as well as a battery powered flashlight. I drank cup after cup of coffee and glass after glass of water and nothing happened, I just continued on with my bleary, grumpy day of endlessness. I didn’t think I could handle another CORE YOGA AT 8:30 class that week. Except I did buy the month’s pass so I wanted to use the community centre somehow. Yes, I am mentioning the month’s pass a lot, not to brag about how awesome I am or how much money I have but because the more I remember that I paid for it, the more likely I am to get off my ass and walk a block and use it.
So I called my mother on Thursday afternoon and whined to her about how tired I had been the day before and how old and lame I was, yes, my mother who broke her back last summer because of me and still can’t do all the things she used to be able to do; a child’s whininess has no bounds, apparently – and next time I wonder where my kids get it from I guess I can just check this space for updates – and my mother said why not just go for a swim. That way you can go at whatever time suits you and be home earlier and get to bed by 9. She might have snickered a little when she said that “bed by 9” part but you know what, she never had two kids, she only had me and I was perfect so she has no idea what real sleep deprivation is. Snicker away.
You should almost always do what your mother says so after I got Fresco to bed I put on my mismatched swimsuit – the top is too-small black Nike and the bottom is just-right blue Joe Clothing – and went rooting around my closet for my swim goggles and cap. I found the cap but not the goggles because I think the last time I pondered these goggles, the rubber was coming apart from the plastic and it had been 3 years since I’d used them and I thought, hey, the rule is: if it’s been in your closet unused for more than a year, toss it (whose rule is this? It sounds like an Oprah rule) so I tossed ’em. And if I had no goggles, I wasn’t going to take the swim cap and besides, I have short hair, right?
No. I do not have short hair. I have shorter hair than I used to have, sure. But I have hair that hangs off of my head and therefore I do not have short hair. Furthermore, to swim, I must put my head in the water – at least most of my head; I can’t actually put my whole face in the water unless I have the goggles because if I don’t have the goggles I can’t open my eyes and if I can’t open my eyes I can’t breathe. (I know. I have face-in-the-water issues and yet I persist in swimming for recreation.)
I swam for 40 minutes or so and it was good and I came home and had a shower in the comfort of my own bathroom because the shower at the pool was full of ladies indulging in leisurely spa treatments. And when the water from my shower splashed over my hair, my hair did say, “NO.” And I said, “Pardon?” And it said, “No. No. No. It is too late. We are done with you.” So I added shampoo and then conditioner, and then the kids’ orange creamsicle flavoured shampoo conditioner and rinsed and rinsed. The rest of my body was fine, albeit pruney. My hair was hard. It was hard like a criminal, hard like a two-by-four, hard like a civil servant waiting for his pension.
It is like I have put an entire bottle of hair product on it, all the time. Whether it is clean, dirty, wet or dry. It is no longer curly, just kind of wavy, and it sticks out every which way and all of a sudden, it is Too Long. Last week at this time, it was fine. As of Thursday, it is Too Long. It is Unmanageable. It is Disagreeable. It is the crankiest thing in the house.
Second crankiest thing in the house.
The person under the hair: also pretty cranky. But only when I look in the mirror. I had to tell myself today, repeatedly, no one cares what your hair looks like. No one cares. No one. Cares. Jesus, woman, just put a hat on and go outside. You now officially take longer in the bathroom than your 3.5 year old and he had the world goddamn record.
On the weekend, I bought new swim goggles. That way, I can wear the swim cap. It doesn’t have to make sense to you. It just has to make sense to me.
And my interim hairstyle is pigtails. Because if you can’t look good you might as well look loopy.