Please God, Just Once . . .

Dear Hair,

Tomorrow you have a date with a pair of scissors. Due to pregnancy, bed rest and life with a newborn you have managed to attain record length. Aside from an ill advised decision in college to grow you (oh those photos), this is the longest you have been for a while. Quite frankly, I hate you. Right now your evilness is harness back with an elastic, because when unleashed you seem to engage every orifice on my face causing me to curse and turn red with rage. Not to mention the post pregnancy shedding, there are so many long blackish brown hairs one can take. And I have reached my limit. However hair, there is a problem with the cut. Since arriving in San Francisco almost five years ago, I do not think I have had one haircut in which produced delight within. After the WHE following Owen’s birth, one could say that I have been scissor shy. Actually I am razor shy, because razors and my hair do not agree. I swear to God, if this lady tomorrow attempts to cut my hair with a razor I will punch her and then claim insanity at the assault and battery hearing. So hair, I ask you to behave so that I can get a hairstyling to thrill. I don’t know what I want to do, but it may involve a few shorn inches, maybe bangs, maybe a Pulp Fictionesque Mia, hopefully not tears. Haircutting gods please allow one haircut in which from the salon I emerge without the will to kill. Thank you.

Cassie