Apparently you haven't tried to buy a cup of coffee these days.
But back to the hair.
For lack of a better word, short is my trademark. It's the style I've worn since a few months after my wedding, when I told my husband I was going out for a haircut and came back with no hair (more or less). A word to the wise: drastic changes like this are suggested during the newlywed phase; they're still pretty jacked up on love hormones and will let them pass. Going out to get a tattoo days after the birth of your baby, on the other hand, not suggested. You don't want to mess with THOSE hormones.
So where was I? Oh, right. The hair. This September, I'll celebrate 12 years of marriage. Any way you do the math, it's a long time to get used to this version of me.
It's been a little longer. It's been a Mohawk. It's been blond. It's been brown. For about 5 minutes one night, it was green. It's been completely gone, shaved to fight childhood cancer five times over (and once again this coming September in Roscoe ... be there!)
When I'm stopped in the street, in the grocery store, while I'm looking for mushrooms at the farmers market, I've stopped asking how this person I've never seen before could know it was me. It's the hair.
It's not that I haven't thought about changing. You try getting through the grocery store in under an hour when everyone recognizes you and wants to chat (but then again, such is life in a small town ... hey y'all).
At this point in life, there aren't a lot of other changes to be made - safely anyway. I won't grow any taller. I can only put so many holes in my body and still hold down a job. And I long ago accepted my bulbous nose as "memorable."
Hair is the only thing left to play with.
But I've been green. I've been blond. I've had a Mohawk. I've been bald.
What am I really missing?
Have you "liked" Inside Out Motherhood on Facebook yet?