To my hair....

Goodbye, long, ragged Hair. You haven't been cut since November. I am sorry to tell you this, but you look like crap. You are too long. You are too thick. You don't want to be curly or straight. I should take better care of you, but I can't. I can't take 45 minutes to blow dry you straight. If you knew what happened to my house you would understand. My kids go bonkers when I'm out of the room. They are like savages. Today, while out of the room, my child pooped on the window sill. Well, he didn't actually do the squat and drop, but he was IN the window sill and had a great, big, explosive crap in his diaper, while standing on my sill.

Hair, you have decided you don't want to be brown anymore. You have decided to grow a big, fat, chunk of gray out the back of my head. You must be mistaken. I am not a skunk. It is not nice to be 32 and have an old lady hair colour as your natural colour.

You have been through so much. You were blonde in your early years. I wanted you blonder so I sprayed you with sun-in. That was what you did in the 80's when you wanted blonde hair. I'm sorry I fried you. You were very nice when you were that golden caramel colour. It was great of you to grow that way. I permed you when I was 16. I'm sorry about that. You went through a lot with all those chemicals that lady poured onto my head.

You've been dyed many colours hair. Remember when I dyed you burgundy, and then purple? Remember the green streaks. They were supposed to be blue. Remember when I cut you super short and then bleached you? Then dyed you dark brown?

You've been hacked and grown out, bobbed and razored. You've been permed and straightened. You've been bleached and hi-lighted and dyed. I've covered you with scarves, braided you and covered you with embroidery thread. I've even put beads in you and once tried to mat you into dreads.

Tomorrow you are going to be cut again. I hope this means that I'll have more time to take care of you and make you look pretty. I want to do you justice, Hair! You will also be dyed. I'm too young to be gray. Or maybe not confident enough. Whatever it is, I don't want to be gray. Not yet.

Tonight is the last night that you will be pulled into a messy, scrunched up, rat's nest of a bun, or ponytail, or whatever it is that you call what I do to you. It's horrific, but tomorrow that will change.....

So long, Hair!