My Life as an African Gypsy

When I want my hair done, I normally want it done right then... not a good habit.

I had been pondering it a bit, whether I wanted to keep my hair long and just add layers, or if I wanted to go back to having short hair. Now that we will be in Mozambique, I will have a blow dryer and can have that option.

After lots of thinking, I decided I wanted to keep the long hair.

Still feeling the need for change; however, I wanted more layers. I have cut many people's hair, and I feel like I have a decent idea of what I am doing. So in my confidence, I told Jon to help me cut my own hair. (Jon had no choice and can take none of the blame.)

I started pulling my hair this way and that and telling Jon, "Cut here, like this."

Initially it was going well and I was thinking I would like it, but soon I realized the layers were too short for the amount of hair I still had pulled up... trouble. I began to panic, realizing my desire for long hair was vanishing.

Gripping the sink, I looked in to the mirror, my eyes filling with tears. Jon tried to calm me, reassure me that maybe we could do something. I said we needed go to a hair dresser now.

Unfortunately, they were all closed. I cried some more.

We got home, Jon ran to the grocery store and I had a good look at my hair. Schmullet. I took the scissors and whacked it all off. (I should have taken pictures, but I was crying and couldn't bring myself to it.)

The next morning we hunted for a salon. 3 misses. Finally, over the phone, I made an appointment. We jumped in the car to attempt to find the place. Place = shady.

Jon asked if I wanted to stay, and in my desperation I said 'Yes'.

I was the only white person in there. I got my hair washed and then was seated, only to wait for 20 or more minutes for someone to finally come to me. During that time I had to calm my nervous vain-self saying that it is only hair.

There was a sign hanging on the wall that said "God is good" or something like that, so I chatted with God and told Him I was believing for His protection over my hair. Ha! Ridiculous, huh? But girls, I bet you could relate.

Anyways, the lady did a good job.

I went home, only to cut on it about 3 more times, layering here, thinning there. In between, I had a nap with Jon. He looked over at me, and I was crying again. He asked if I was okay, and I replied threw sobs, "I thought of my ponytail!" =)

In the end, I like it; I really do. I am getting used to it and will fully embrace my short haired self soon.