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 It made my old long layered look feel frumpy, brassy and outdated.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.