Friday was haircut day. Haircut day is an important day, right up there with oh, I don't know, kindergarten graduation. Not necessarily photo-worthy, but bound to have a significant impact on your life depending on a positive vs. negative outcome.
So after my foil and brow wax (both excruciating in their own way) came the big cut. I explained that I would like an inverted bob with the longest piece at my chin, a total of 5-6 inches cut off. The following is the actual conversation that took place:
She: "Why so short?"
Me: "Oh, time for a change! I like having short hair"
She: "But that's really short."
She: "Just wanting a change huh?"
She: "So you're not depressed or pregnant or anything?"
Me: "Ummm, I don't think so?"
I won't delve into the plethora of thoughts rolling around in my head at this point but I will say this - depressed or pregnant!? Is a major haircut some kind of secret coping mechanism sought after by depressed and/or pregnant people? I guess depressed I can see, but haven't pregnant women already made enough bad choices? Do I look depressed? Or pregnant!??! (puts down bag of chocolates) Why can't I just get my haircut?
Well, despite that very awkward moment, cut my hair she did. And it looked so nice that I spent the rest of the night flipping it back and forth like a shorter-haired Cher. And it did make me feel happier, but it did not make me feel any less pregnant.
Later that night, at some point between the car and the front door, my euphoria overshadowed the icy sidewalk of death in front of my house. I fell, and every last ounce of my weight landed on my right elbow. The massive swelling, agonizing pain and my Hulk-like reaction made for an uncomfortable, albeit slightly comical, evening for my house guests. Thankfully the elbow is fine, though why it has started hurting again today after almost a week worries and depresses me.
Maybe time for a new haircut??