I was so tired of my long, unstyled hair. After an unsuccessful attempt at a home hair cut (Can we say "smoking the doobage move for 300?")I took myself over to a local salon where I received a fantastic shag cut. Like the poster girls that lined the walls, I walked out the epitome of a fifties bomb shell. And while the style was beyond adorable and would look like a million dollars on Katie Holmes or Victoria Beckham, I personally looked HIDEOUS.
I checked myself in the mirror on the way home. "Maybe it wasn't so bad."
If I was waffling before, Rex's reaction sealed the deal. My quiet husband who wouldn't make a facial expression if I wore a bikini to a funeral, walked around perplexed for hours - a permanent crease in his forehead. Out of the corner of my eye I'd find him studying me. I was pretty sure he wasn't trying to figure out what shade of lipstick he was going to surprise me with, so I finally confronted him. "It's the hair, isn't it?"
Rex: "What about it?"
Me: "You don't like it."
Silence. I could see the wheels of his brain spinning. If he tells me he loves it, he's stuck having sex with a drag queen for the rest of his life. (I'm 6'1. Trust me - short hair and me? Not good.) If he says he hates it, he's stuck never having sex for the rest of his life. I layed out a perfectly formed trap for him and he wasn't sure if he wanted to press the trigger.
But he did. And he was as gentle as pie as only my sweet talking, sensitive husband can be.
Rex: "I hateit."
Me: "Well, like, really hate it or just kind of?" Like there's anything softer than hate. Like perhaps he only wants to vomit one bucket rather than two every time he looks at me.
Rex: "It's just so unflattering. It's so unfeminine. On your tall frame you just look like a dude. And..." Now he was struggling, and I was getting irked. "I really find you so beautiful, and I think it looks better longer."
Good save,
I thought about what he was saying. I happened to agree, but I was also a bit bummed. I had really wanted a change, and the end result was frustrating. Still, it wasn't worth an argument. I asked him for an opinion, and he gave it.
He put his hand on my shoulder, "I'm sorry. I just miss the old Andrea."
Better words were never spoken. I'll have to use them on my old hairdresser when I make an appointment next month.
I could have summed up this entire post with a sentence from a male friend. I asked him why dudes were so attached to long hair. He looked at me with a thick New York accent and replied, "It gives us something to hold onto. When we're doing ya."
Alrighty then.
Happy Sunday. Unlike my hair, may your sex life be long and exciting.
Posted by Andrea Frazer
Good Housekeeping
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