Turn in your teasin comb and go back to high school!

Tonight I am getting my hair cut. I totally heart getting my haircut because I like other people to wash my hair. I actually like other people to touch my hair in general. I think touching hair, teeth, feet, vajayjays and butts is totally sick but somebody has to do it. I like my hair, its generally clean and I feel like it makes me unique. It’s versatile and a particular shade of red so I’m not about to let some beauty-school-drop-out whose only experience is grandma’s annual tease lay a hand on my head. I will only get my hair done by ONE person, Lori. Lori is the only person allowed to touch my hair with a sharp object. Lori is doing my hair on my wedding day too. She’s fun, makes fun of her mother-in-law and can’t grow her hair out to save her life. I probably couldn’t either if I worked in a salon.

Last year Lori went on maternity leave, this in turn meant I went for over four months with fierce split ends. My friend, Heidi, on the other hand, decided to just “see whoever was available” and ended up with a gum-chewing super freak with zazzled hair and scissor hands. Scissor hands are easy to spot. You walk in the door and as soon as they see your beautiful long hair their eyes light up as they picture 8 inches piled on the black smock and yell “I’ll need you in a second” to the salon broom boy. That’s right, those bitches cut your hair off whether you like it or not! So, Heidi walked in with long flowing locks tinted with golden shimmers and left with blunt chopped hair, bangs from hell and a bad dye job. In her defense, Heidi always looks good, even with a bad dye job and she did try to define TRIM and told zazzle brains to leave the highlights. No luck. Glad I didn’t risk it. [update: Heidi has since entered into hair-rehab with Lori and received monetary compensation for her pain and suffering. Scissor-hands is still employed, barely.]

Anyway, I always contemplate bangs or cutting 10 inches off and donating it to Locks of Love so they can make a killer Tam wig. I always picture the wig being curly, even though my hair doesn’t have the slightest kink. I also picture it being worn favorably by a Jonbenet Ramsy look alike during a tap performance. But alas, I never do any of these things – no bangs, no chop –just trimmed ever so slightly. I did tell Lori that if or when I get knocked up [she swears that if you’re married it’s no longer called ‘knocked up’ but I informed her that it’s ALWAYS called knocked up] I will let her cut my hair into a Jenny McCarthy bob. I am also quite fond of Kate Holmes current "do" but Tom and his Scienntologyscmology just annoys me too much to want to be like her.

I might get bangs.