Haircuts

One of my intentions with this journal is to never post images from a source that isn't either my own or a reproduction of a masterful artist, such as previously borrowed Francis Bacon works and miscellaneous quoted authors or songwriters. However, I will make an exception in this entry to better illustrate my morning and mid-morning conversations (including a fine example of the craftmanship of conversation held between Craig and me on our drive into work circa 7.15). Because Craig believes that short hair is attractive on women, and at the same time because I've been craving a cosmetic adventure for roughly a year now, I've decided that cutting my hair before the Holidays is an absolute Must Accomplish on the ever-flowing To Do List. Seeing as Craig and I have not completed our Christmas shopping, and the remaining gifts will be purchased in Short Pump, I developed what I determined to be a fairly decent plan to kill two proverbial birds with one stone. Thus I present KB's and CB's exchange of early Monday morning:
KB: "Do you think it would be inconvenient for you to drop me off at a haircut place while you finish Christmas shopping?" (in a sweet, not bossy tone)
CB: (fired up immediately) "YES, THAT WOULD BE INCREDIBLY INCONVEN..."
KB: (interrupting) "Okay, okay, NEVERMIND."
CB: "I'D BE SPENDING MORE TIME DRIVING AROUND..."
KB: "I SAID 'OKAY, NEVERMIND'..."
CB: (huge exasperated sigh) "IT WOULD TAKE ME AN HOUR JUST TO..."
KB: "I SAID 'NEVERMIND.' I SAID THAT LIKE 6 TIMES. I WANT TO DROP IT BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT MAKING ME VERY HAPPY IN THIS MOMENT AND I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT."
CB: "I told you you don't have to go Christmas shopping, you could just..."
KB: "DROPPPPPPPP IT. DROP IT DROP IT DROP IT DROP IT."
(transcript copied directly from e-mail to AB earlier today)
Now, much later in the day, or with the onset of evening, I have decided that this exchange (albeit slightly exaggerated) was quite comical and indicative of how cranky either of us can be on a Monday before 8 a.m. But I also see absolutely no reason why Craig could not accommodate me and my desires to be dropped at a Short Pump salon while he store hops right there in the same area and I shower myself with some much needed, much needed for the sake of people who have to look at me on a regular basis, beauty treatment...such as a cooler haircut than just lots of hair hanging straight down which is the mousy status quo. (Rather, its typical routine is to be wound in a rubber band and propped somewhere at the back of my head in the manner of a ponytail. Boring and not at all adventurous.) Moving along, after I informed AB of my intentions, she, ever-the-Cosmo-and-Style-Aficionado, lept to my rescue with e-mailed photos of divine hairstyles that I, no offense to AB and her purely innocent and charitable contributions to my cause, could never pull off, not in a million years. There is no amount of product or no highly-enough-paid stylist (hair artist) who could manage to get my hair to any of those places. Nonetheless, I decided to join AB in her Search for the Perfect Cut, and my ambitious detective work produced this woman's hair, which made me laugh heartily because immediately, and I do mean without delay, I copied and pasted this anonymous female's hair art photo into an e-mail to AB and I commented, "Hi, my name is Blonde Model. I just got my hair done like this but now I can't perform day to day duties such as cleaning, driving, working, and just plain seeing. But I look REALLY hot." And, in the spirit of making myself laugh really hard, I felt the urge to record this whole hair dilemma from beginning to end. And its conclusion, while open-ended, is that I did go ahead and set an appointment for tomorrow in Short Pump with a Senior Stylist. We will see how that pans out. PS--AB came up with some pretty good ones today herself, including her response to another haircut image I sent to her consisting of two curtains of hair down either side of the woman's face, which AB believes should come with the warning: "No Peripheral Vision." I literally yelped from attempting to hide the laughter that wanted to spill over.