Today was the day that I woke up and couldn't stand looking at my stringy, scruffy hair for one more day! I always do this (and it often results in a serious chopping of the locks). I don't know when I reached the point in my life where things that used to be relaxing--like haircuts and pedicures--have become chores. I guess because my free time away from the children is so infrequent and valuable that I would rather spend it at the grocery store, where I can squeeze my avocados in peace, than sitting in chair at the salon. P.S. I hate the grocery store.
But back to the cut...another funny thing about haircuts and me is that I frequently end up looking like some 80s rock star. There was Pat Benatar in college (horrific!) and, more recently, Joan Jett (meh.). And to be clear, I'm not talking about the rock star when she (or he) was totally cool in the 80s, but the later version of the washed-up, aging star who's trying to hold onto the glory days and the glory hair. I get a definite Bret Michaels circa "Rock of Love" vibe from my new 'do. I just need to slap on a bandana and call it a day.