So, after spending days agonizing over my decision to get my hair cut, I somehow managed to get myself out the door, put aside my fears, and make it happen.
It’s a funny thing–I was more preoccupied with not feeling at ease once I got to the salon (because of my weight) and really didn’t think about what it was going to feel like not having tons of hair anymore. (My hair used to go all the way down my back.) I knew I wanted it short, but good gravy, I wasn’t prepared for how different it would feel to have it so, so, so short.
The coolest part was that I had so much hair that I was able to donate it. It was the best part of the experience.
The stylist and I chatted about books, TV shows, cities, and various things. Usually, I like to just close my eyes (to avoid looking in the mirror) and not talk at all. This time, though, I have to admit, it was a really enjoyable conversation.
The only minor glitches were the smock she had me put on barely fit, once I got into the chair, my tummy was hanging down and I was constantly trying to cover it up (and so relieved when she put the cape in front of me before she started to cut), and, worst of the worst, I had a bit of an issue pulling myself upright after she washed my hair.
It was a good experience though. I’m glad I pushed myself to do it.