let’s cut my hair

I need a haircut. Scratch that. I need a hairstyle.

I swore the last time I went long, I was sure I’d stay here for at least a decade. It’s been two years, and every time I get near a pair of scissors my fingers start to itch. It’s getting so bad I’m ready to let Junie have a go.

So two weeks ago I was in Costco and ran into a girl from the blogosphere. She’s got the cutest, hippest hair I’ve seen in ages–uber blond with a sassy pink streak to die for. It made my old long layered look feel frumpy, brassy and outdated. Suddenly I knew: I need a haircut. A good haircut. A sassy haircut.

A short haircut.

And there, my friends, lies the problem. My husband supports just about everything I do with my style. Leggings and stiletto’s? Go for it. Bell bottom trousers? Fantastic. Snuggies? Hey, as long as there’s nothing underneath, he’d let me wear just about anything I wanted.

But he loves. Long. Hair.

I first fell into this long style by sheer accident. My hair all fell out when June hit about six months, and by the end of the first year I literally had to wear hats to cover up my scalp. I met a darling hair girl in the grocery store who took pity on me and hooked me up with a reem of extensions that took me from chemo survivor to Dancing with the Stars in six snaps and a teasing comb. It took two years, but I finally hit the point where my hair is thick and lovely and long without any artificial help–and I hate it.

So today I called that cute, sassy girl from Costco (who happens to do hair) and made myself an appointment. Then I got online and started googling styles. After an hour, I think I’ve got a perfect solution that will satisfy me and fool my husband. We’ll see if it works out, I’ve got an appointment tomorrow. Fingers crossed…we’ll post pictures if it’s good.

Fat Ugly Girl

So the other day my girlfriend calls me.

“Hey, I have to go with my husband to a fancy dinner tonight and I have nothing to wear. Got anything?”

Now we all know that I’m all about fancy everything, so I invite her over to raid my closet.

She drops in and I pull out this gorgeous cocktail number that I got on a super deal last winter, complete with matching strappy gold stilettos. She puts it on, opens the door, and my jaw hits the floor.

She looked GO-O-ORGEOUS. Talk about the belle of the ball, she could have gone without a stitch of makeup and hair in an old ponytail and still have stoled the show.

As I’m standing there, gawking at her fantasticness, she does what every woman in her shoes would most likely do: she pinches a non-existent piece of fat, scowls at herself in the mirror, and says, “I don’t know, I might be too hippy for it.”

Why do we do this to ourselves? Because let’s face it, we all do it. It doesn’t matter how smokin’ hot we look in something, one glance in the mirror and all we see is that zit, or a patch of wrinkles, or some otherwise attractive bulge that we like to call “flab”, but that any man would secretly wiggle his eyebrows at.

The saddest part is that when we go out in public, most people don’t look at us and pinch our fat with their eyes, trying to find any and every possible flaw. And when people give a compliment, the initial reaction for most women is shock. Really? You think I look nice? Ugly old me?

We all know I wasn’t about to stand around and listen to that kind of negative self-talk, and anyone with eyes could see that her arguments were spineless. She looked good, and she deserved to feel good. It only took one good, honest look in the mirror before she saw herself for the beauty she is. I think sometimes we forget that we’re hurting our own feelings.

Let me tell it to you straight. You are as beautiful as you think you are. You want to feel better about yourself? Be kind to that girl in the mirror and stop tearing her down. When you catch a glimpse of yourself this week, say something nice, out loud, and squelch those old self-esteem killing comments you usually make. Give yourself a break and show some love.

You deserve it.