I am finally back to (mostly) normal after a full week sick with the worst cold ever. And YES, I got tested for Covid and it was negative. In fact, two weeks ago Cute W was at a professional conference in which (of course) someone ended up testing positive after they all got home, so I was in a full-on panic when a massive truck’s worth of congestion hit me, well, like a truck. But nope, it was just a garden-variety cold, albeit one that made me feel like someone had shot me with a tranquilizer gun. And I was coughing so hard that the fillings in my teeth hurt (that doesn’t seem good, right?) and I’d have to cross my legs and really focus on not wetting my pants. It was deeply unpleasant.
Even when I am not writing posts, I’m often mentally writing them, and before I got attacked by sickness, I had plans to start a post with: “I believe I’ve made a terribly, terribly bad decision. It will take time to get over this mistake, but meanwhile, I’m just going to have to do my best to live a normal life. . . ” and then eventually I was going to reveal that for the first time in at least 20 years, I decided to get bangs.
Why? Oh, I don’t know. This ongoing pandemic and daily life stresses have pushed me to make a ton of life choices I never expected that I’d make. I’ve repeatedly left the house in leggings. I’m regularly painting my nails, and in fact, my current nail color is green. You heard me: green. So my hair was driving me crazy and I was thinking of going back to my chin-length bob after leaving it long for a while, or maybe a lob, and then I thought that perhaps bangs would help obscure those always-frowning-at-a-computer-screen wrinkles between my brows (nope) and 50% of my sisters have bangs and look cute in them. So I walked into the salon thinking, “Long or short? Bangs or no?” and I kept the long hair and got just a few little bangs. Here is my immensely unsatisfying before-and-after:
I say that it’s immensely unsatisfying because my hair had been making me crazy for, like, weeks leading up to this hair appointment, but then it somehow seemed quite pleasing and fluffy and better looking than usual when I took this picture immediately prior to my haircut (yes, if you are in Niskayuna, you probably know exactly where I’m standing, there). Seriously, aside from my squinting-into-the-sunshine teensy eyes, I look rather adorable and I legit looked at the picture and thought, “Maybe I should just cancel this appointment?” But I did not. Instead, I went in, and after the appointment I took this after picture, which is not flattering, and it feels like my nose got bigger and my face got rounder, and it’s really not an accurate reflection of how I look, I don’t think, but I just don’t have the heart to take more selfies because I am not a selfie person. My technique is poor. I don’t know how to do filters. It’s just not my cuppa tea. So, you know, I look somewhat like that.
Anyway, I was sitting there in the salon staring at myself in the mirror, as one does, and she had just snipped a little fringe of bangs that lay wetly on my pasty forehead and I just kept a frozen smile behind my mask while thinking, “This has been a terrible mistake and I absolutely hate it, but there is no point in making my stylist feel bad because we both thought that this would be a good idea, so let’s keep looking brave and happy.” When she pressed me, I had to admit that the bangs would take some getting used to. Then I tipped her the usual because I couldn’t blame her, I could only blame myself.
Luckily, I have gotten used to them, for the most part, and it is helpful that both J and Cute W are enthusiastically on Team Bangs. This is actually one particularly adorable thing about Cute W. We have been a couple for more than 30 years, and for the first, oh, ten or fifteen of those years, whenever I mentioned getting my haircut, he didn’t want me to. Obviously he wouldn’t tell me not to, but I’d say I was getting it shorter or doing something different and he would fret, “Are your sure?” or he’d just be low-key sad that I was going to change this package of which he was so fond. And then every time, I’d come home and he’d say, “Oh, I love this! You look so cute!” with the utmost sincerity whether I liked the new hair or not. And after this had happened repeatedly, at some point in the second or third decade, his reaction to an impending salon appointment evolved into, “Whatever you do, you always look so cute.” Which is exactly the kind of positive reinforcement I welcome since, as I mentioned, my selfie game is crap.
I had every intention of catching y’all up with so much other news, but since I do not have an editor to force me to stop blathering on and on about the current status of my hairstyle, I’m going to save the rest for another day. I hope you’re all well.