My hair, my beautiful hair

I was having one of those days last week, and I found myself in Super Cuts.  The two hairdressers were at work, so I flipped through the books with the wonked-out style show hairdos, and by the time my very own hairdoer was ready, I knew what I wanted.  I pointed to the photo.

"That's a Mohawk," she said.  And she was correct.  A Mohawk partly black and partly bleached white and partly hot pink.

"Okay, maybe not exactly that extreme.  But that's the mood I'm in.  For 20 years, I've walked into places like this and said, 'Take two inches off and layer it, please.  I'm done.  Cut it off.'"

Then I showed her more photos, which had more to do with sculpture than Mohawk, and we came to a resolution. When she gathered my hair in back, she asked if I wanted it cut off in a ponytail.  I said yes.  Then I asked about Locks of Love, which as it happens requires a ten-inch ponytail; but the other hairdresser remarked that Pantene, the shampoo company, has a program that accepts eight-inch ponytails.  She cut. We measured.  Victory.

I went home, and Michael went into shock, uncertain whom to call first, our therapist or our attorney.  He is adjusting slowly; but he enjoyed watching the next step, which was tracking down the Pantene information.

Safe in a Zip-lok bag in a padded envelope, my ponytail has gone off to bring joy somewhere else. A frabjous day indeed.  I, naturally, got talked into buying $17.95 of goop of some kind to make my hair thicker and curlier -- cause I forgot that it's nature is to curl, with or without help.

Some of you may recall that my grandson Devin donated his ponytail to Locks of Love a few years ago. He got his picture in the NC paper, and he looked happy, but I didn't understand until now just what a happy feeling it is.