Groomed

Last night I received my first haircut in twenty-one weeks.

 

I'm a new woman.

 

A stranger.

 

Nice to meet you, chick.

 

Heather and I discussed how much to take off in order to keep my mane healthy.

 

I was appalled when she proceeded to show me how uneven my hair had grown. Is that normal?!! She assured me is  very normal.

 

I ask, "About an inch?"

 

She tells me it may take more, considering my lopsided head of hair.

 

I asked, "A Texas inch?"

 

Heather asks, "What is a Texas inch?'

 

"About twice the 'normal' inch," I reply. "You guys always take more than you estimate."

 

If you know, you know.

 

Meticulously cutting and styling, once complete, I feel like a modern day Farrah Fawcett. Running my fingers through silken strands, I'm pleased, really pleased. I need a Six Million Dollar Man to run along side me, with sound effects, chasing sketchy perps over the mountains. And let's adjust for inflation. SMDM would now be a Three Billion Dollar Man. (You know, if you're old enough, you heard sound effects when you read this, don't lie.)

 

Satisfied, Heather tells me, "I removed more than an inch, but not a Texas inch."

 

Fibber.

 

Reluctantly, I admit removal of extra inches was much needed.