Chopped!

That feeling of ‘time for a change’ has been hanging over me for a month or so now. And despite some fairly major changes (i.e moving into our flat and having Naidel home for good), I still had that feeling. I got a new suit. It went away for a day. I joined the gym. It went away for a week. I tried some extra make-up. It never left. So as I was running my hands through my long red hair on Friday afternoon, I finally hit upon it. A hair cut! That’ll do it! I searched on the Internet and found some snazzy short do’s, booked a next-day appointment and folded my arms triumphantly. Saturday morning came and I refused to go. I sat on the sofa clutching my hair and refused to sacrifice it to change. Naidel marched me into town and I had no choice but to go. I lingered outside for a little while relishing the feeling of my hair wrapping itself around me and keeping my neck and ears warm. Then I took a deep breath and walked in. She sat me down in that chair that always seem to resemble a torture chair with padding, and lifted chunks of my hair test its weight. Then she took the scissors and brutally chopped off a large quantity of my precious ginger locks with one snip. As she sent me off to have my hair washed and prepared for the rest of the cut, I felt for those red tresses that were sat on the table, separated from their fellow follicles forever more. I watched tenuously as she clipped here and there, straightened some bits and waxed others until she finally let me out of the barbaric Chair of Doom. I looked in the mirror. It wasn’t me that looked back. It was some warped doppelganger. A warped doppelganger that looked good though. My first thought was ‘my mum is going to kill me!’. She always said I should never have a bob. Oh dear. I didn’t look bad though…..actually, it looked kind of…..chic? Stylish, even? I flicked my layered sweeping fringe with a renewed confidence. The cathartic need for change dissipated, and was replaced by a new buoyancy. I strode down the road home, casually flicking my new short locks and checking the ‘new me’ out in shop and car windows. Everyone keeps saying how much it suits me and how much better I look (did I really look THAT bad before?). Despite the compliments and the good feelings my new hair gives me, I still feel a pang of sorrow and longing for my long red mane, cut down in its prime like stalks of wheat. *sniff* Fare thee well hair! Our paths shall never cross again….