Hair Helmet of Doom

When I was a young girl of, oh, say 10 or 11, I vowed to always keep my hair long and flowing free; I didn't want to have short hair that was shaped into a semi-permanent helmet around my head like my mother wore. I didn't want anything that was "me" to be like hers, and my hair was at the top of my list.

Now, mom has dark hair and I'm blond, and I don't like myself with darker hair (my complexion can't pull it off), so there's no worries there. The slight possibility did exist, though, that I would one day cut my hair.

I tried to cut it short at 19, and went for the classic "page boy" style -- what some might call "the bob". Well, to be honest with ya, that was a total disaster. The style made my head look exceptionally HUGE, and at that point, I vowed yet again to never cut my hair off again. Trim off split and dead ends, yes, but actually cut it off? Absolutely not.

Enter 1 young child and 1 husband, a busy household and hair that drove me ab.so.lute.ly. nuts. With all these things coming together at just the right time, and in a fit of insanity I went to my beautician (who is actually a good friend and former classmate of mine) and said, "That's it, cut it off. Now." She did. I love it. Easy to style, a "modern" style, too. But today, as I was styling my hair in preparation of getting Conman from school, it hit me.

I am my mother.

And...

I have a hair helmet.

It has happened. I now proudly wear my hair helmet armored with Mega-Hold Hairspray. Neither rain, nor sleet, nor damp of night will penetrate the shellac on my head. Don't get me wrong, it looks good -- at least I think it does, anyway -- and it feels good to actually wear a hairstyle for a change.

My mother, the woman who is pleased by nothing, actually complimented me on my new haircut when I first got it. Reckon I know why, now...