I spent last weekend in St. George. Every March, in order for Brad to maintain his Utah law/bar license he has to attend some classes, go golfing or something of the sort, which conveniently for the golf, takes place in St. George. Once in a blue moon we all take the trip with him and 2011 seemed to be a blue moon so there I was on a Friday afternoon cruising the red rocks of southern Utah with Rosemary while Brad took the three older children to a community aquatic center. I wasn't feeling in the mood to put on a swimsuit in public. I haven't quite come to terms with my aging body, it's on my to-do list but it's behind washing baseboards and dusting crown molding. Plus, I have serious issues with pools. I think it's because I grew up swimming in large bodies of water, you know, like the great lakes. Pools are just a touch too creepy for me, it feels as if I've embraced a "let's all get naked and cram together in a giant bathtub" attitude. I know you are thinking that I may be neurotic, but that is my only "thing". Pools and chicken. Have you ever prepared raw chicken while pregnant? Seriously.
So Rosemary and I pull into the parking lot of Target and I spy a Great Clips. I've never had a hair cut at Great Clips. I barely get hair cuts. But here's the thing: I live in an incredibly homogeneous microcosm. I'm not knocking my neighborhood, I really do love the women I live around. The problem is, and maybe someone else shares this problem, if something is trendy or popular I don't do it, or wear it, or say it. For instance, when "awesome" became a trendy word, I refused to use it. Now it's the foundation of my vocabulary but whatever. Remember overalls and how people would wear one strap down?! But that's not a good example because that truly was ridiculous. I know you are thinking: Martha had a pair of overalls? I did and I wish I still had them. I just refuse to wear the strap down.
Pegging your pants. I didn't do that. The neck cut out of a sweatshirt and hanging off of one shoulder? I totally did that but that was cool.
Lots of chunky jewelry, or lots of jewelry at all, I can't do it. Leggings with a skirt over them, no way.
So back to my point. My neighborhood. We all have long hair. Not only is it long, it has those soft contrived waves that are wrapped around the curling iron but not clipped in. Well mine, not so much, it's wavy all right, but minus the curling iron and add some serious frizz. Sacrament meeting is like a Stepford wives gathering. We could totally give the women of Colorado City a run for their money if you know what I mean.
So I see the Great Clips and I just can't take it anymore. I walk in and ask the lady to cut 4 inches off. She stares at me and asks: What will your husband say? I let out a Pfftt, which is french for: he won't even notice. She starts cutting. She calls the woman next to her over saying: look at her hair, she wants to cut 4 inches off, would you cut 4 inches off if you had her hair? I mutter something about them not understanding the pressure I am under. Rosemary sits in the next chair pushing button after button on my iphone.
Finally, it is done. I pay and walk out waiting until I find a mirror in Target to asses the damage. I find one and am confronted by what would be an almost perfectly cut frizzy triangle if it weren't for the two straggly strands which hang longer than the rest. I am reminded of Suzanna Hoffs in "Walk like an Egyptian" or better yet, Selma Bouvier, Marge Simpson's sister (I only know the name because of my brother in-law who is a Simpson die hard). She has some awesomely beautiful hair.
But it doesn't matter. At least I am free from the pack.
You added another neurosis to the list didn't you?
I'll probably grow it out.
(Totally self-conscience head tilt)
