For the first week after I got my hair cut, back in August, I tied it back in a bandanna and tried not to acknowledge that I’d gotten it cut. It was, you see, not what I’d asked for.
I told the woman who cut my hair - specifically! - that I wanted a chin-length bob, and that she must take into account the fact that my hair was wavy. Pulling and combing my hair straight down and cutting it at chin-length in that situation meant that it would curl and fluff up well past my chin.
She, of course, being the “hairstylist,” ignored me (the person who has lived with this wacky hair ever since it started growing like this in fifth grade) and I ended up with a bob that barely reached the bottom of my earlobes.
I went home and considered seeking liquid counseling. Instead, I opted to complain to the nearest cat, who looked at me with great confusion and eventually decided the petting he was getting trumped the obviously-unhappy human-meowing sounds I was making.
I wore my hair in bandannas a lot for the first couple of weeks, because every time I took it down, someone looked at me and said the Very Same Thing. Colter’s version, however, was funnier than most:
Colter: why it’s Molly Ringwald!
Amy: I wish I had a dollar for every person that’s said that
Colter: really? people have said Molly Ringwald?
Colter: is it the hair?
Colter: see, with a little exercise, there’s an 80’s actor inside all of us just waiting to get out
Colter: maybe if i do a lot of crack I can be Robert Downey Jr.
But now it’s early October, and my hair’s had a chance to grow out a bit. Toss in a little gel, use only my fingers to comb it, and suddenly not only is my hair curly, I don’t mind the comparisons quite so much:
Hey, Duckie, does this mean we get to go to prom?