Haircut

Okay, so I have no idea what happened here.

I went to get my hair cut, and I went to a lady that I had been to before and I was pleased with. And I even brought in a photograph. A photograph of me with a haircut from years earlier that I liked and wanted again.

So I show the woman the picture and go, "I think I'd like my hair to look like this again."
Hair destroyer: "No, your hair is too thick for that haircut."
Me: "But see, that IS me. That IS my haircut. That's MY head."
HD: "No, that would poof up too much with your hair and would look too big. How about I cut it a little longer than you want, and then do some minor angling towards the front?"

So I thought about it and figured, why not? It's just hair, and even the worst haircut can't be that bad. I mean, it grows out. And usually when I listen to the people, it turns out pretty good.

So I am sitting there watching my hair falling around me, glad that I am cutting off my hair to shoulder length as I wanted. You always have that weird sense of freedom when the weight of your old hair is just falling away from you. And angles are good. People look OK with angles. I was getting excited for my new look.

Suddenly I feel a tension in my stomach: why did she just cut that big chunk from so far back? That can't be an angle, can it? What is happening? But no, I don't know anything about cutting hair. I'm sure it's fine. It must be fine. She knows what she is doing. And anyway, she's done already. The scissors are away in that strange blue liquid. Why worry now? It will be FINE.

I see my sister come back in and mouth, "Oh my God, am I getting a mullet?" She looks at me like I'm crazy and I am appeased. Noooo, it's not a mullet. She'd tell me. It was just that my hair was so wet, so I couldn't tell how it would look.

We finish the hour of hair drying, and I look up again as my sister is staring at me in blatant horror. Then she bursts into silent laughter and hides it behind a People magazine. Oh my God. What is it? How bad is it? I can't have a...mullet, can I? No! I am just being obsessed. I don't have a MULLET. Pshhh.


I do find it a little bit odd that the woman has me facing away from the mirror, though. Don't they usually show you with the big "ta-da!" and are happy when you smile and go, "Wow, it looks great!" even when you just got a trim and you can't even tell that anything was actually cut? I mean, does anybody ever look and go, "MY GOD, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"


But I turn, and I see this (see right for Exhibit A--also known as Exhibit mullet-head). That is the side of MY HEAD. MINE! Not some guy in a rusty pick-up truck down in Florida. Me. I live in NEW YORK CITY and I have a mullet. Look at that party in the back! I tell you, IT'S NO PARTY!! I am horrified.

And the worst part is, I am terrified of washing my hair. I have wavy hair, so once I wash this mullet sucker, I am going to look like carrot top. But with a worse haircut. Which I never thought possible until I saw my sister hiding her hysterics behind People magazine, because reading about Britney Spears and her latest antics was less horrific than seeing me in this haircut. She was frightened by the mulletude of it all.

Oh...my...God.