Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your...DREADS?

After two full years, it is finally time. I am getting my hair cut. Before my Nooz was born, my hair wouldn't curl even if electrocution was involved. Heavy Mega Perms by Your Hair Just Died lasted exactly five days.

Due to hormonal shifts and the effects of Being Thirtyish, my hair now resembles that of an Irish Rastafarian or a really sloppy Quaker. I-40 serves as my blow dryer, as no comb or brush can make it through this disaster of a 'do without breaking - or pulling mounds from the roots. I generally wear it in a bun, even at night. However, the bun is now so big that I wake up with headaches. It is time for this 'do to be DONE.

At 10:00 on Saturday, it will be complete. I estimate that somewhere between ten to sixteen inches will be lopped off. That will bring it up to my shoulders. I have yet to decide what style, as previous attempts at style and fashion have fallen flat.

Take, for example, the dismal 'do of '82. I was in love with Joe Elliot from Def Leppard, and had my hair styled just like his. Bad boy mullet on a chubby pre-teen? REAALLY bad idea.

Then there was the infamous Pre Prom Perm (junior high). Reeking of ammonia while dancing to Tiffany, opening the sinuses of all around. Another bad idea.

This brings me to my Last Really Bad Idea. It was 1990. In college and itching for freedom, I SHAVED MY HEAD. Not completely, but close. My inspirations were the lead singer of Roxette and Susan Powter, of Stop the Insanity! fame. I looked like I had been shoved into a cave (did I mention that I also went bleach blonde?) and fed a steady diet of demerol and prednisone. Pale, stoned and bloated. Had I thrown in some wrinkles (and gone brunette), I could have passed as a rather short (and sturdy) Keith Richards.

Ok, now I am nervous. Maybe I should just leave it alone. After all, brushes are pretty cheap...and I-40 air is free.