Chop!

I've been needing a hair trim since July. That means my last trim was not in July. My last trim was in May, right before the Remstads' wedding.

Finally, I set aside some time this past Saturday. Thaisa sits me in her kitchen, turns on Seldom Scene, and asks me the million-dollar question:
"How much to you want taken off?"

"Ummm," I run my fingers slowly down its impressive length. I haven't had it this long since sophomore year of college. "As much as necessary to make it not-yucky again. See how it frays down here?"

"Ok, ...so 2 inches? 3 inches?"

"Let's make it 3!" I say it enthusiastically, with mock courage.

She arranges the top layer of extra hair on top of my head, and soon I feel strips of my lower layer being separated out, followed by the crisp: shwick! of the scissors.

"Ummm ...?" I whine.

"Don't hate me...!" she cries back in a whisper.

"I don't hate you. I trust you," I assure her, reminding myself of all the haircuts this woman was responsible for at That Anonymous College. "Thank you so much for doing this. ...How's it looking?"

"Well, ..." she pauses. "Um. It really needed to be trimmed."

"Yeah. Ok. It's pretty bad, huh? How embarrassing."

"Oh, don't worry. Do you remember when the 'bob' was in? ...just kidding!!"

I chuckle with relief.

Then it's all finished. I can tell by Thaisa's face that it looks really different. She is anxiously waiting for my reaction.
I put my hand up to my head, and thread my fingers from my forehead to my neck.Good sign: I can still fit my hair behind my ears. I go look in the bathroom mirror. The layers are clean and defined. I take a shower; it takes me less than 10 minutes. I dry my hair; less than 5. I tell Thaisa that maybe I want to keep it this length. She breathes a sigh of relief.

I go out with classmates.

"Did you donate it?" one asks.

It's a trim, people. It's still a trim.