I am sixty-two years old.
I’ve been down this road before.
Seems like I’d learn my lesson.
It begins like this: I am perhaps mildly depressed, suffering from a bit of malaise, lonely, bored, or just have a little too much time on my hands. My attention will be drawn to something that is not quite right. That “something” will generally fall into one of two categories.
The first is home repair. I’ll notice a patchy wall, a leaky faucet or an uncomfortable furniture arrangement.
The second is my hair. Always nearby; always in need of help.
No matter how I try to distract myself, once noticed, the offensive “something” will not go away. I may be able to delay action…for hours, or even days…but it will eventually win out.
It continues this way: I will jump in and take action. Euphoric at first, I will delve in to that five-gallon bucket of drywall compound, pull all furniture out of a room to get a fresh perspective, start disassembling a faucet…or begin perming, dying or cutting my hair.
During this phase of the operation, if I were thinking out loud, you’d hear things like this:
“Do drywall finishers even train for that job? I bet they just do it, and learn by doing. Who couldn’t do this?”
“Plumbers obviously make too much money! It’s the mystery of it all. If people would just jump in and try it…look how easily everything comes apart!”
“Hairdresser is just a title. Mother’s have been cutting their own children’s hair for hundreds of years! What did people do before we had hairdressers? It’s just a matter of cutting it evenly, isn’t it?”
That blessed phase gives way to doubt:
“This isn’t going as far as it should. I wonder if I’ll have to buy another bucket of this stuff. This [table knife/ piece of cardboard/ spatula] might not be the best tool for the job…”
“Now that I have it all apart, I wonder where the problem is…”
“Oh, so I’m clearly not the first person to think of pulling all of my hair into a ponytail on top of my head, and cutting it off. That must be how the “mullet” was invented. And there is no way to cut the back without being ambidextrous…”
Desperation leads to poor choices:
“Maybe I’ll actually go for that deep stucco look…like the walls in early Taco Bell restaurants…”
“…wonder if I turn the water back on?”
“Possibly if I cut every single strand the exact same distance from my head…if I can find the tape measure…”
Which then devolves into failure:
“Clearly this product should not be falling off the wall in big, damp chunks…AND IT”S TAKING PIECES OF THE WALL DOWN WITH IT!!“
“…Dear God, please let me just get this back together the way it was so I can call the plumber…”
“If I call in sick to work, and beg the hairdresser to get me in before hours…in secret…and maybe I could tell her that my hair was caught in machinery…or that I was drunk…”
It almost always goes this way.
I should know better.
Clearly, I don’t.
Though the wind is howling and there’s snow coming down and the roads are slippery…
Though this is my day off, and it would be nice to be able to stay home all day getting the house back in order, with soup on the stove and bread in the oven, with a good book waiting by my chair to read when I take a break…
Not this day.
Some foolish person – that refuses to learn her lesson – cut her own hair last night.
IF the hairdresser will see me, I think I’ll leave my warm house and go out in this weather to go get a real haircut.
They are trained professionals, after all!