The Lone Star State
Lordy Lordy . . .

Tina Scissorhands

When you have long hair and go to a new stylist they never want to cut enough hair off. They assume that you are married to your length rather than, say, married to your laziness.

So the conversation with Tina, my new Texas hair stylist, started with the usual question, followed by the usual answer:

TINA:  How short do you want me to cut this in the back?

ME: Oh whatever you think - I like it stacked up. Go as short as you need to. My hair grows fast. I'm not going to cry. You really can't cut it too short.

Now this is where the stylist usually eyes me suspiciously in the mirror, grabs a modest chunk of hair, indicates a wee little cut, and says "about here?"

Not so much with Tina.

TINA: Oh, ok. SNIP!

An enormous chunk of hair fell to the floor.

And it didn't stop.

SNIP! SNIP! VROOOOOM! (That's the sound of her chainsaw starting up) HACK! CHOP! SAW!

I had to close my eyes for part of it.

And when I thought she surely must be finished, she grabbed some other mad-scientist implement and mumbled "let me just thin out this side over here . . ." and chopped some more.

But somehow, I'm not bald. And I have bangs for the first time this decade.

I have updated my profile pic accordingly. Do notice the tank top and palm tree background, replacing the sweater and snow, thereby proving that we're not in Colorado anymore.

As I was paying, Tina was sweeping and called out "Wow! I didn't realize I cut this much off of you. Do you see this pile of hair?!"

I certainly saw that pile of hair.

It looked like a medium-sized woodland creature had pledged a fraternity.

It was a lot of hair.

After my hair appointment, I stopped by Ulta because I was almost out of foundation. An employee saw me looking at my usual brand and asked if she could show me another brand that I might prefer and next thing you know, I'm in a chair and Jennifer is giving me a mini-makeover! She did all sorts of steps, with smudging and blending, and lining, and then it was like "voila!" and I looked in the mirror and said (with decorum) "Holy crap!"

I looked great! Yeah, I'm going to say it, because Jennifer is some sort of miracle worker or something. Today I'm back to my shlumpy self, but for a few hours, I was smokin'!

I walked into the house last night with my flippy sassy new 'do, rockin' my bangs, with my lips all lined and pouty, and the family said:

JOHN: Wow!

EMMA: I don't think Lucy even recognizes you, Mom!

KARL: Ha ha ha! Did you see that guy wipe out? (because he couldn't be bothered to look up from the TV)

JOHN: It's short. I like it.

EMMA: I like it too.

KARL: Rewind it, Dad. I think that guy kicked himself in the back of the head falling off the Big Balls.

I went to watch TV with them. I was seated in a chair across from John, when I noticed him looking at me.

JOHN: Your eye makeup looks . . .

ME: Awesome?

JOHN: Heavy.

ME: I got a mini-makeover at Ulta! Jennifer did up my eyes. They're smoldering. Don't you think they're smoldering?

JOHN: They're . . . something. Just don't let me catch you rummaging through the neighbor's trash can later. (and for emphasis, he started doing a little raccoon impersonation holding his hands together like little paws)

This. This is what I deal with.

And I know what you're thinking; "Don't encourage him"

But the problem is that he's funny, so before I could stop myself, I was laughing.

I know, I know.