Flame Hair

You can’t accuse me of not just holding my nose and diving into things. Well with the exception of actually diving into water, I never learned to swim. I follow sometimes silly whims, because somehow even the tiniest one makes me think I’ll regret not doing it. And I always say “no regrets”, so I take it harshly when I pass on something. Mostly because I have a fear of looking back with regret, and I know that’s silly.

So when I unexpectedly find myself in the salon, I tell her “get rid of it all”. I have no specific aim of what to do with my hair; I just know I want it gone. So, with my usual “surprise me”, it’s all gone and I’m happy. Until I look further at it, and realize how bored with it I am. Maybe a change, I suggest to myself. Something new, something I’ve never attempted but might end up hating. Despite everyone saying no, I did it. I went to another salon and said “make me a blonde”. I’ve been known for my red hair for so long, I just needed it gone. After 3 hours of both myself and the kind hairdresser going insane over the seemingly innocent and deceptively challenging request, I looked in the mirror and there it was.

She turns to me, “So… um, do you like it?” She looks at my unsure face. “Because you don’t look so sure.”

I wasn’t sure. I’m still not sure. Maybe it’s the fact I look like a grown up, female version of Johnny Test. Red remains at the very tips of my hair, and I feel like I need to actually wear make up to look less funny. But, I did it. I tried something I never had before, and quite likely won’t ever do again. Maybe because it felt like my was hair on fire, and I’m not sure it’s because of the chemicals, or that she seared my head with hot water. Not just hot, but I’m pretty sure she could make tea with the water she used.

The push to do this was a result of a conversation with the moms at the bus stop. They were astonished that I had chopped off my hair, though I wonder why since my hair wasn’t very long to begin with. The shock on their face when I stated that “I don’t really care what my husband prefers”, wondering if I was afraid he’d leave me. No, I’m not afraid he would because if he left me over something silly like my hair, I’m not entirely sure I’d care enough to miss him. Then an equally shocked look on their face when I said “I might even go blonde today”. It became internal pressure to do it, to show that hair can grow back or get dyed back. It’s no big deal.

They seemed scared of change. They were in awe that I just did whatever came to mind. I can check one more item off my list of “stupid things I’ve never done”. I’m neurotic enough to regret not trying it, because I think if I can talk myself out of trying something so simple as a new hair color, what else will I talk myself out of doing? Sometimes I just need to make a change, and I don’t want to look back and say I didn’t try.

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