look at me: a shave and a hair cut …

Earlier this year, I liked the idea of growing my hair out. And I embraced it.

When the shag began to form around my ears, I resisted the urge to run screaming to a barbershop. When the back went from bushy to bushier, I hid all the scissors. When I caught myself tossing my head to get my hair out of my face, I tried not to roll my eyes.

My dad asked me every time I talked to him on the phone, “You got your hair cut yet?” His grumble and grovel a little too loud, as it is normally. Or in person, he’d offer me a twenty dollar bill for a trip to Supercuts.

This weekend, I ended this round of growing-hair-out-Skipper.

Yes, that’s right. I took a hair clipper to my head. And it was very liberating.

It was funny. Jen was on the phone with her mom at the time I came out onto the back porch with a pair of scissors and the clippers. She asked me if I was going to cut my hair. I said yes. She asked if I could wait until she got off the phone with her mom. Jen hacked it off with the scissors and started in with the clippers. And then Erin, my sister, shrieked when she came in the back gate. Okay, maybe not funny. But it was interesting.

First, it’s hair. It’ll grow back. I hope it’ll grow back.

Second, summer in Texas is a bad time to grow out one’s hair. It’s hot and unmanageable.

Third, I like the change. It’s refreshing. Or like how watermelon flavored bubble gum tastes nothing like watermelon. It’s so off that it’s familiar.

No doubt, I’ll jump right back on the growing-my-hair-out train. I just wanted to take a small detour. I can hear my sister snorting already, “Detour? How ’bout all your hair gone?”

I always forget how many scars are on my head, how many small dents patch up here and there, and those crazy cowlicks.

I will be the first to admit that this short is a little too short. But it’s just hair. It’s just hair.