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So I’ve been tinkering with the idea of chopping off my hair for the past year. Why so much debate? Well, my long hair happens to be a big deal for my hubby dearest (the A-Man), and I must admit, the hair department is one of the areas that my parents did me well in. I’ve got the goods. It’s thick, it grows fast, and people often think I have extensions in. I’ll take the goods where I can get them, you know what I mean? Let’s face it, I didn’t get the cute perfectly slanted toes; my gangly digits can pass for the monkey variety. I also didn’t get the “it” factor in the teeth department. I can simply sum up that tragic story with the fact that I wore braces for 5 years and I still come with a variety of gaps on top and smooshed crookedness on the bottom. Hair… that one I have. Take the wins and run with them, right?

Anyway, it’s not like I’ve never had short hair in my life. The first experiment in bad haircuts came back in the 80’s at a time when I didn’t even know what business meant. However, apparently I had a face for it because my mom’s hairdresser friend decided to bestow upon me a mullet. My long hair was left lonely in the back to party on its own as I looked into the mirror only to cry in horror at the short crop of hair meekly attempting to look good in the front. At least I can say that I recognized the tragedy of the ‘do even in those days.

The short hair debacle carried on into my gawky tween years. I was always tall for my age, and although I am decidedly woman these days, in that era, I had no defining characteristics to let people know either way. It was particularly clear that I was not the fast developing type when I got my hair cut much shorter than I had wanted and was mistaken several times for a boy. The best such mistake happened at Disneyland. Laid up in the first aid station due to severe cramps of all things, the couple talking to my mom wished her boy well as they left. So much for that being the happiest place on earth.

I think the long hair mystique was finally drilled into me when I worked at my first job. I was 15, and felt like the Jolly Green Giant at the time, while my mentor and co-worker was a buxom blonde of 19 and decidedly in with the boys. I distinctly remember standing at the front of the store one slow and lazy evening watching as one or two lonely shoppers made their way past us. Buxom was busy doing squats with a broom over her shoulders as she schooled me on the ways of the world. She taught me that any woman who had good posture and long hair would always be desired. Boom! Belief. In. Stone. At least the long hair part.

Flash forward some -- odd years later and here I am, long hair, off and on good posture, and married to a man that loves the mane!

Yes, there have been a few short-ish cuts in these years, overall, though, long has been my mainstay. It has served me well. We’ve been good friends, my hair and I. Even though my hair rarely does the looks that I want, we have still managed to create those moments of envy. There is also the practical usage it serves. For example, it really does keep my ears and neck warm when it’s cold out there! Also, when I’m bored, my hair comes to the rescue. Some people are twirlers. Me? I’m a straight-up tugger. You’d be amazed how it can pass the time.

However, I realize what it really boils down it is identity. I’m like freakin’ Samson. My hair has become me! Craziness!! If I cut it, no more pigtails or braids that make the checkers at the store ask me for ID! No more amusement for my hands when they are bored. No more people asking me if it really is my hair or if I’m wearing extensions. Oh my holy moly, I might become… just another person with regular, boring hair and only occasional good posture!! The A-Man will be horrified! My pets won’t like me! I might not get ID’d anymore. Who will I be?!?

Oh, the drama of it all!

And then I got out of la-la land and back to reality. My hair grows fast. Get over it and get on to it. If I want to cut my hair, go and do it already! The A-Man already came to terms with it. Heck, he might even like it. He does fancy that little blue wig I got for a party awhile ago. Just sayin’. And let’s be real, the haircut that I’m looking at is really more of a medium length cut than short, anyway.

Oh, the adventures that could await a medium-length coifed me! Who will I be? So I’m taking it on. A new reality awaits me. A more playful and fun me is about to be unveiled. My clothes are going to look so much better, I can feel it already! This is the moment the true me has been waiting for!!! I just know it.

I know I’m not the only one who thinks like this, right?

Or, it’s simply a cute new haircut and life continues on. My identity has stealthily made its way deeper into my being than just the condition of my locks. My pets will still love me. My jokes will still be knee-slappingly hilarious, the A-Man will still look at me with that twinkle of somethin’-somethin’ in his eyes. Roar, baby, roar!

Have you ever done the big cut and changed your hair-dentity? How did it go? Did you love it or hate it? Share below in the comments, especially if you have any pictures! Until the next adventure…

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