Got my hair cut, finally. I waited too long this time. I scheduled my next appointment before I left this time.
I regret that I can’t still wear my hair long. It was never very thick in the first place, and then I had Desmond, and it thinned even more. That’s what happens, I guess.
I look at pictures of me with long hair, and, not in all of them, but in some of them, it was so pretty. There was this one picture of me at the CDC, working 1:1 with a kiddo, and my hair was draped over one shoulder and all shiny and I had on this flowy rust-colored dress (that I had to wear a top over at work because it was too revealing—a braless sun dress). My skin was so clear and my lips were so full and red.
Anyway, looking at that picture, I thought to myself, “Daaaaaamn, who is that?” I never look at pictures of myself and think that. My reflexive reaction, honestly, is “UGH.” And it’s always been that way. Even as a skinny girl. Even as a kid. Isn’t that sad?
I should’ve asked for that picture before they booted me. I can count on one hand how many pictures of me I have liked. I can think of three, offhand. One of them is the wedding picture I shared a couple of months ago of me in the snow with Brian Callahan, may he Rest In Peace.
The last one is in Washington, D.C., the year 2000. I am soaked from running from Union Station to the hotel in the rain, looking not too pleased. I just think even though I’m mad, and wet, I looked pretty good.
Anyway, I miss my long hair sometimes. Long hair is so sexy. But curls are too, I guess: “Red hair with a curl.”
Jack White loves redheads. Not everyone does. My friend Rob from high school said he didn’t like them until he met me. I converted him lol.
When I was a little girl there were like 3 red headed boys in our class, and I crushed on them all. Red headed men, not so much.
So I get it. Sometimes it’s an acquired taste.