Bowled Over

Hey guys. So, it's ridiculously hot outside. Therefore, my hair has taken flight like I've never imagined. I have 10,090 pieces of hair flying away, aiming for the heavens. It ain't pretty.

I sat outside in the humidity with my pal Liz tonight and came home to something that can only be described as maniacal. Mad scientist. Gary Busey. My hair is aggressively fighting for its freedom. It stretched out, in all its wiry goodness, and fought its way out of my carefully crafted ponytail. It cried "I refused to be constrained by this piddly binder any longer! Let me free!"

It makes me long for my bowl-cut hair days. No split ends. No frizzy fly-aways. Just enough hair to cover my dome. No more, no less.

I have had this obsession with growing out my hair because I had a boy haircut for the most important developmental years of my childhood. But now, it is actively fighting against me. I have 1 billion split ends. I have 6 billion broken hairs at my hairline. It's like my hair is telling me "It's time to give up."

When I was young, every girl I knew either had bows in their hair or bouncy ponytails. I had opted for the Mary Lou Retton look because it was the easiest way to get me out of nap time and on the street for night games. I am nothing if not efficient. Eventually, I decided  to grow out my bowl so my mom could expertly French braid my barely-long-enough hair. I was determined to not be confused as a boy. I was a LADY. So, I grew my hair out. Forever.

After college, I read an article called "Change your hair, change your life!" Unfortunately, I was unemployed, impressionable, and definitely looking for a change. I figured "Hey, Cosmo has never steered me wrong!" So I opted to chop my hair off. It was the only time in my life I made my own decision to cut off inches and inches of my own hair. I cried as Alecks (yup!) chopped layer upon carefully-grown layer off my noggin. I stared at myself in the mirror afterwards. I was six again. I had a bowl cut. 

Okay, so yes, I DID get a job a month later, but I'd like to think it had more to do with my abilities and less to do with my pseudo-updated bowl cut. The point is...I haven't chopped my locks since.

But tonight, as I looked in the mirror with Mr. Busey staring back at me, I realized I need a change. Should I chop it all off? Should I dye it? Does anyone have a bowl handy?