My hair was looking a little shaggy so Jack suggested I use his clippers to even up the back. As a tool-using humanoid, I thought this made a lot of sense, and then I promptly buzzed a bald spot onto my scalp. You see where it went from there.
Initial reactions from the public:
- "That is every woman's dream."
- "You can pull it off. You have a good head shape."
- "Yeah, a lot of girls in the ashram would do that when they were looking for a fresh start."
- A shocked expression that evolved into a sort of scolding twinkle that said to me, "I hope you learned your lesson; let's never speak of it."
- Mirthful silence
And then the weather turned chilly!
I love fall just as it's beginning, when it's cool in the shade but still warm in the sun. But I keep forgetting about being nearly bald and I walk out into the world wearing a nice, warm coat and very little hair. Every time I hit shade my scalp wrinkles up in shock, but when I walk back into the sun there is bliss. Bliss.
There's also the beauty of a hot shower raining directly upon skin that's never felt that sensation unmediated by hair. Washing my scalp with a bar of soap and then rubbing warm sesame oil all over my head. Sigh.
Makeup and earrings are no longer optional, however, and I seem to overdress for the plainest of errands. There's a part of me that's sure I'm going to get called a rude name by some yahoo. Every time I think I might be too old to be policed for the way I look, a dude decides to take time out of his busy day to tell me I make him want to barf. It's happened recently enough to remind me that as a middle-aged woman I'm still not invisible, despite the claims and hopes of popular culture.
There are hats, but fuck hats. Why should I hide the most Buddhist of haircuts? Plenty of Black ladies walk around with hair this short and they look amazing, I rationalize to myself.
I don't know if I'm going to keep it. My husband loves it, though. This was his plan all along!