Huh.

For some reason every time I get a haircut I'm inspired to write about it. It's like you get a chance to choose a new you. There you are, looking in the mirror at the old you with the non-descript mop lounging around your face and trying to decide what the new you is going to look like.

Should I color? Should I just get it cut? How short? What do I want to be able to do with my hair? What will look good? What will make me wake up in a cold sweat realizing that I have killed my chances of fortunate and fame by getting a stupid haircut!? (at least until is grows back into the mop that is.) And what will help me walk down the halls of the University knowing that I look like a million bucks in spite of the fact that I have at least 13 years on most of the students wandering the halls. Let's face it the "do" seems to say a lot about how you feel, especially when it's a bad one.

I can't help but think of some of the really good bad hair-do's I have had while growing up. I used to get perms a lot when I was in junior high and high school. They were the home perms that mom did cause hey, why not. I'll never forget one particular home perm. The solution apparently sat a little too long and as my mother was taking out the perm rods, there were bursts of quickly stifled laughter. "It'll be fine, it'll be fine" she said quickly and stifled another laugh. I looked like I had stuck my finger in a light socket! Tight little curls. Yechk.

Second all time favorite remembrance was "the haircut". Mom was just having a bad year at that time. It was the same year she gave my brother the "Trojan war helmet cut". She was trimming my bangs, pulled the hair down, asked "Is this the right length?" and then cut it before I even had a chance to look, let alone respond. My bangs were maybe two inches long. I'm betting an inch and a half personally but it can't be proven since I would allow no one to take a picture of me till they grew back out. Positively mortifying during the delicate high school years. I had to use one of those super extra small curling irons to even put a curl in it. I wanted to put a bag over my head, or come down with mono or something so I could skip the rest of the school year.

For your enjoyment, the hair of high school past... thank heavens!

Sophomore year. The perm. Young, innocent.

Junior year. The attempts at straightness. (failed) Senior year. I have no idea... seriously, what was that. (Don't you think I kind of look drugged?)