Today is the day. My long, brown hair is being liberated from my head. I’ve been so excited about the short haircut ideas- the voting and planning a small gathering for the event, that I’ve lost sight of the why.
It started to hit me last night.
Not because I believe my hair defines me in any way, but because my current look attaches itself to cancer-free Grace. Any drastic change symbolizes a greater cause, prompting such a seismic shift in coiffing. A change I would not have made had cancer not come a-knockin.’
Reality has started to set in. I am going to have a blonde mohawk. When I run into people at the deli counter (I’m back for more Boar’s Head), if they even recognize me at all, I will be forced to make an instant decision:
1. Play it cool and don’t even mention the hair change. If they don’t ask any questions, move on to #3.
2. If they mention the change, decide whether or not to tell them why.
2a. Lie and say you just wanted a change
2b. Tell them all about your cancer, surgeries, chemo, hair cutting party, etc. Be ready for lots of sad sighs, and sympathetic frowns.
2c. Act like there is nothing odd about a suburban housewife having a mohawk, thus making them feel bad for possibly discriminating against you.
3. Don’t give a shit what anyone thinks and move on with ordering my deli meats.
I’d like to think I am confident enough to skip straight to #3– not so sure that I am. The good news for me is that I made a resolute decision to have some fun with this. As many of you who know me well know, once I make a definitive decision, I do NOT back down. I am nothing if not disciplined.
So the change is happening. Make no mistake, behind my bravado, I am freaking out. Will I still be beautiful to my husband? Will I feel like a phony? Will I ever leave my house again?
All of the above remains to be seen. In the meantime, let’s bask in all of my hair’s glory by enjoying this triumphant hair montage.