Wine makes anything bearable

The new look.

I have always been a “long-haired-girl”- one of those girls who prides herself on having lovely long tresses. On a few occassions, I have taken out my inner angst on my tresses, hacking into them, dying them, bleaching them beyond repair. Then, like the lover whose angry words have brought tears to his girl’s eyes, I repent. I weep, I pray that my hair will forgive me, that it will grow back, and my hair and I can be once again what we were before.

I arrived home Friday night from The Restaurant. After working a full day at The Hotel and then being on my feet all night waiting tables, I wasn’t sure I was in the mood to do much of anything, especially not get roped into another conversation with J about why I want to go to nursing school. But, like always, as I climbed the stairs to my apartment, she was there on her patio. Sitting in the chair, her walkman in one hand and her wine in the other. I waved and kept walking. When I walked back down to take Penny out, she was standing there waiting for me. “Do you like my hair?” I had to admit, it was pretty hot. She’s one of those women who can wear her hair short and still look feminine. I complimented her new ‘do and made a vague reference about getting her daughter’s phone number so she could cut my hair soon. “What about tonight? She could cut it right now?” In my head I was debating. K might live at home with her mother; but she is 22, doesn’t she want to go out tonight? On the other hand, this would be substantially cheaper than the salon I normally go to and when do I ever even have time for an appointment between my two jobs? “Only if she isn’t doing anything else tonight.” There, I gave her an out, if she wanted it. J led me into her apartment. The blanket was still spread out on the floor from J’s haircut.

This is where it gets a little fuzzy.

J sits me on the stool in the center of the blanket. She tells K that she should just hack into it. I timidly pipe up that I want an angled bob. But longer. I am a long-haired-girl; my hair looks best shoulder length or longer.

K studies my face for a minute. She tells me she wants to run the angle parallel with my chin. My eyes widen with fear.

She clarifies, “The hair won’t be chin-length, it will just fall at the same angle.”

“The front peices will end here,” she says as she touches my clavicle with the side of her hand. I sigh as I realize that my clavicle is lower than my shoulders. Ok, this might work. I nod as J hands me a glass of red wine. I’m not sure if I am nodding in response to the haircut or the wine.

I spent the next hour trying to drink wine without moving my head while K snipped away at my hair. Meanwhile, J drilled me on questions about my personal life. Why did I want to go into nursing? What did I want to do with my life? When she was finally convinced that my ambitions were purer than just the idea of a stable career in a feild that would always have work for me, she moved on to questions about my education, that of my parents and my income. Previously being on the scholarship advisory board for a nursing college, she knew exactly what I need to do and say to get the resources I need to get my degree. By the end of the night I had a new haircut and a plan to not only get into nursing school, but get financial aid and scholarships. Thank god my neighbor is not only a nurse but also an instructor.

As for the hair, the ends in the front do rest below my shoulders. The back sits right along my shoulders. I like it. I love it. But you know what? I’m actually thinking about letting K take off another inch. It would be just short enough to have a bit of wow-factor. At least, enough wow for this once-long-haired-girl.