I Swear, It Has Taken on a Life of Its Own Now

The saga continues. (Yes, my hair! Nothing else will matter until I can stop perseverating over it.)

Last night, I took a shower and began the onerous business of futzing around with it, trying to do something to make it so that I could walk into the high school building and not feel like I was Medusa, or Regan from The Exorcist with my head spinning around, drawing attention to The Bad Haircut practically announcing itself on my head. I finally gave up and hoped for the best in the morning, deciding that if worse came to worst, I would shove it behind my ears and call it a style.

Oh. My. GOD. The exact minute I arrived at my classroom door a student sang, "I like your hair, Mrs. D.!" I muttered "Thanks" and hurried into my room, shutting the door behind me. I don't even know who it was. The rest of the day was a constant litany of: Did you cut your hair? I like your hair! You got a haircut, didn't you? Your hair looks cute! Oh, your hair is cut! Someone got a haircut over the weekend! and on and on and on and on and on and on and on. Did it matter that I said, "Thank you for your kind compliments, but I'm really unhappy. I'd rather not talk about it. Let's get to work." No. They had to wrench the life out of it. Oh, why? It's cute. Who did it? Did you go someplace new? Did you tell the stylist? And on and on and on and on and on and on and on. Oh. My. GOD. What part of my clearly articulated sentence "I don't want to talk about it" did they not understand? Sigh. I know. They were trying to be sweet. They were. I thanked them, but repeated that it was not a topic I wanted to discuss any longer and that we had real work to do.

But I had to endure this five times today. Not counting staff encounters in the lounge. I know--it's me. It's all me. They were all nice. Or is everyone just incredibly good at lying? >gasp<

Aaaarrrgggghhhh.

As soon as was humanly possible, I lit out of school early and drove like a maniac back to the salon. I had called earlier (7:45 AM!!!) and had practically sobbed on the phone. Yes! I could be recut at 2. Something to live for! I couldn't shoo my 7th period class out the door fast enough! I walked into the salon and my stylist was calm and apologetic. She didn't even cringe, even at the recut attempts of my husband. Little by little, we snipped and combed and somehow came out with something I can live with until it grows back out. At least it looks like it's supposed to be something.

Today. God, I hope it still looks like that something tomorrow. If not, I will have to be sedated. Heavily and perhaps for an extended period of time.

Vanity, thy name is Nance.