Hair, Again

The Biblical character I identify with the most is Samson. Not only can I tear a lion apart with my bare hands when I get angry, I'm also afraid of repeating Samson's fate of being captured by the Philistines and being put to boring, grinding labor.

There is something else I share with Samson, which is my faith in the almost magical powers of my hair. The idea of people approaching it with scissors terrifies me. This is why I haven't had it cut for exactly three years. A hairdresser can never be trusted not to snip away an extra inch, rendering me powerless as a result. The last time I visited a hairdresser, she disregarded every single instruction I gave her. I literally cried for days after I saw the result, even though everybody I knew was kind enough to pretend they didn't notice.

After three years of avoiding hairdressers my hair has become even wilder than usual. As the summer approaches, I realized that carrying around on my head, neck, and shoulders an equivalent of a warm blanket might not be a fantastic idea.

So today I called a neighboring salon to make an appointment. I spoke to the receptionist in such a tragic voice that had anybody overheard the conversation, they might have thought I was making an appointment at a funeral parlor. I'm going to the salon tomorrow at 9 but it seems at this point that I will not be able to fall asleep for a while tonight, or possibly at all. I hope not to have a panic attack in the salon tomorrow.

Life is hard for us, the Samsons of this world.

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