Haircut Gone Wild.

So, I went to my hair guy today. I like him a lot - he owns a hugely successful salon and is just a trip. I did what I said I would, and put my head in his hands.

And he started telling me about the lot he just bought and we talked real estate, and he whacked away at my hair. I knew he was going for it when he started with the razor at the back of my neck.

So, first he went for one of those trendy bobs, stacked in the back and longer toward the front. Me: "Have you MET my hair and humidity? That's going to go all frizzy wings before I leave this building." He: "Okay, let's go shorter." Whack-whack-whack. Whips out blow-dryer.

Me: "This part here on the sides? That's going to go all wingy and look dumb." He pauses and nods: "We don't want Flying Nun." "You got it, that's what I've called that forever - those ear flaps do that Flying Nun thing." "Gotcha."

He whipped out the razor again and left me with just the right amount of hair at the ears (I do love a man who understands when a client says, "Earring showing length!" which I actually did and he got it instantly.)

So, I left the house with hair sitting on my shoulders in a big old sweaty hank, and now have a razored short cut that is definitely, unequivocally SHORT, but also not severe or boring. It's a bit messy and floppy on top and definitely fun. I like it. It's one of the few times in my life that I left a hair salon and didn't have to go home and re-style it to see if I could live with it.

When Girlmama brought Miss D this evening, Miss D was definitely puzzled by Grandma's new appearance. Girlmama liked it, and said I look younger with short hair. I don't know if I do, but I do know I am not disappointed. So glad I just put my head in his hands and collaborated on a fun haircut, instead of going the safe route.