It appears that summer has hit here in NYC. It was in the 80's today.
I had to get my hair cut, and I was in one of those crazy moods. I decided to get it totally buzzed. I had been thinking about doing this for a while. I have a lot of friends that have their head shaved or closely buzzed, and I often think that they look best on the first day of the haircut. So I went to a barber and asked for a buzzcut - not completely shaved, but short. And I didn't look at it until he was done.
And a good thing, too. I had those five minutes to prepare a look of stony optimism to not to reveal to the barter that my world had crumbled on the inside.
I took a glance in the mirror at the end. It looked FAR WORSE than I would have imagined. Somewhere after paying and stepping out of the barber shop, I felt better. I caught a look of myself in the window, and it didn't look chemo-inspired, it looked military. I looked like a bad-ass.
I went to Whole Foods and no one pointed and laughed. No one came up to ask me what type of cancer I had. The breeze felt fantastic on my head. Why - I may just keep this haircut for a while!
I got home and wondered if the pups were going to sniff my head, wondering what happened. Oz was fine. Gogo took a look at me and went nuts. She got all excited and even gave me TWO KISSES! Maybe girls dig military haircuts.
I was feeling pretty gosh-darn great about the haircut when I took a serious look in the mirror. It's not good. It's somewhere in between escaped mental patient and just-got-home-from-the-hospital. I'm hoping in a couple of days it will have grown out enough to be passable. For the time being, I'm going to have to wear a hat - at least when I'm with David.
I was planning on taking a picture for this entry, then chickened out when I tried to take a decent shot. I finally decided to be brave, but so as not to horrify people when this page loads, I've hidden the picture.
NOTE: After some consideration, I've decided I'm not brave. I took down the photo.
