Considering it

No, I'm not debating cutting my hair. Why do you ask?

Just kidding. Because I totally am. I can't stop looking at pictures of cropped tresses. My college roommate took the plunge and got herself a PIXIE CUT and it's so cute and so bold and so daring ... and I'm over here lookin' like Ms. Frizzle with my hair in a messy bun because it's too heavy to do anything else. 

Oh gosh, Clayton would be SO UPSET. True story: Every time I go to my stylist for a trim and color she asks me, "So, if your hair long enough for your husband yet?" And the answer is always "No." Clayton has admitted that he won't be satisfied until my hair is long enough to cover the entirety of my boobs so I can walk around like Alanis Morrisette in her "Thank U" video. 

My hair IS getting long. It hasn't been this long in years, and I both love and hate it. 

When I have the time to put in the effort, I love it. I mean, what girl doesn't love a headful of soft waves?! (The one who has to spend an hour an entire can of hair spray to do it.) But when I'm short on time and barely have time to blow dry it? I loathe it. 

I have fine, painfully straight hair but it behaves much like a head of naturally curly hair: It gets super frizzy in the rain, cold and humidity. In fact, if you just look at my hair wrong, it'll go crazy. When we had our first frost in late October, my initial thought was, "Well, there goes any hope of a good hair day until next May."

So here I sit, debating cutting my hair off for the millionth time. It's okay to know your strengths and I know that I look best with hair that hits my shoulders or slightly above. It works for my hair's texture, my face shape, the size of my nose, the way my butt feels, the war on on terror, and a bunch of other scientific reasons I can't remember right now. 

But I am positively obsessed with messy buns and I don't know if I'm ready to give up the ability to throw my hair on top of my head in a rubber band (or scrunchy) and forget about it. I LOVE putting my hair in a top knot. I feel beautiful with my hair tossed carelessly on top of my head and I don't care if it makes me look ridiculous. It makes me feel good and there's not a lot of things I can easily say make me feel good. 

Well, except cake. 

And wine.

And dogs. 

And fuzzy socks. 

And wine. 

And flannel bed sheets. 

And beanie babies.

And wine.

And Kelly Clarkson's smile. 

And my husband. Yeah, him, too. 

Okay, so there are other things that make me feel really good, but I think you get my point. 

But I'm afraid of naked shoulders and I seriously think that shorter hair requires a different wardrobe and my Kohl's card can't even handle that right now. And even though Clayton isn't the boss of me or my hair, I very much care about his opinion on the matter and don't want to disappoint him. 

"It's just hair, it grows back." That's so easy to say when it's not YOUR HAIR. Plus, do you have any idea how long it took me to get my hair to this length? Over a year! I have the laziest hair follicles ever. Getting them to do anything is a massive uphill battle that I'm quickly losing patience for. 

Ugh, I just want to chop it off, dye it ombre, get another tattoo and sell my wares at a Farmer's Market (my wares being things I made out of popsicle sticks and unsolicited advice). That's the life I want. 

I may or may not be slightly buzzed right now.  #notsorry