So I got my hair cut today. Typically I get that done every 7 weeks or so, as I wake up around week 6 still loving the style and keeping it under control with the larger brush, and then on week 7 I feel as if I could be doing a decent impression of Billy Ray Cyrus telling people about my heart, it is achy and breaky. And apparently since my stylist has been learning some new techniques and such, I now have what is known as a "hairstyle" instead of "something that just keeps all that out of my eyes". She's still trying to convince me to get a flat iron, but we'll have to see about that.
To be honest I was a bit unsure of the new 'do and my immediate reaction was to convince the Jonas Brothers never to hook up with Humpty Dumpty, because surely their love child would have THIS hair style. It's definitely flatter, which makes the 80's diehard in me die a little. It also feels... rounder. And more in-my-face (and conversely, less in-YOUR-face, apparently). But it's grown on me. At least, it's grown on me since the kids went to bed and I can have an uninfluenced examination of it.
You see, I went to pick up Bloomer first (who, to totally brag, had such an awesome day that she got to the treasure box for a special treat. She's now sleeping with her prize rocket in her bed.) (P.S. - kids are weird! Maybe I'll sleep with that new thread I picked up that I love!). The grown-ups I ran into (including her teacher) all said, "Oooooh! New haircut! I like it!" And Bloomer's teacher is kinda sassy, which we totally pink-fuzzy-heart, but she also got a new hair style the other week and Bloomer's immediate reaction was like this: Stare. Point. "What happened to your hair?" And Ms. T rolled with it and said, "I know! I'm not sure if I like it but I'm going to try it for a while."
So I sort of knew what to expect out of Bloomer. What I underestimated, however, was her capacity for rapid changes in facial expression, which was just the buttercream frosting on the honesty cupcake. She saw me, then squinted, pointed, smiled, grimaced, smized, gaped, and pointed again and said, "What's up with your head!?!" Her gaze was so magnetically drawn to my head that she almost ran into the doorway.
Uh, yeah. We're signing that one up for charm school.
Boxer was not much different, although apparently doesn't have the range that Bloomer does, and stuck with the classic Charlie Brown-hunched-over-mouth-agape-hands-splayed-Christmas-tree-sighting. Then he pointed and said, "Your hair!" Poor child couldn't even form a complete sentence.
And then... there's Brief. Brief, who usually remembers that I'm getting my hair cut right after he sees me with a short 'do. And hey, I don't expect him to keep up with my beauty regime and schedule, so it doesn't really bother me. But today, wow. He saw me and said, "Your hair. It was cut. Did I know that?"
How do you even respond to that? Is that a regular question, rhetorical question, or ass-kick-worthy question? After a few minutes, he did say, "I like it." Of course, he said this from another room where perhaps he was going through a variety of facial expressions that rivaled not only Bloomer's but also a very expressive mime.
So, I give you my hair (and there was tons of it left on the salon floor, so you are free to take even more). Apparently I am incapable of smiling while attempting to take my own picture while hiding in the bathroom with this new style. My hair apparently also now has the power to remove verbs from people's vocabulary. I will attempt to wield it appropriately, but can make no guarantees that I can harness its power.
