A story to tell

Oh, dear ones, on this rainy day, it seems time for a story. An illustrated one. (I almost just typed “with pictures” after that last phrase. Which is redundant. And kind of funny.) It’s a “hair history” if you will.

Ready?

Once upon a time, fresh from grad school graduation, I decided it was time to grow my hair out again. I hadn’t had long hair since about my sophomore year of college and figured it was the last chance I had for wearing long hair and looking OK. Because let’s just get this out there: on most women, long hair after a certain age just isn’t a good idea.

But alas, I had long hair. It looked something like this:

It was longish. It was slightly highlighted. Ponytails were easy, fun, and always an option when my hair had a mind of its own. Then, one day, I got tired of my hair and wanted to do something drastic. I turned to my hair muse, Mandy Moore, and showed this picture to my stylist:

Andrea, my stylist, was overjoyed. An interesting haircut! Someone who said, “Oh, do whatever you want to my hair!” That first cut was actually alot of fun. Andrea didn’t use scissors at all, just the straight razor. My hair was shorter than I’d ever had it at that point, and I loved it. For the first time in my life, I felt pretty, eye-catching, somewhat fashionable. It looked something like this:

It grew into this. Keep in mind this is in the airport in Frankfurt Germany after a transatlantic flight in which I really didn’t sleep:

Here’s the view from the back, sort of. Keep in mind I was in Russia. And it may have been a day when they turned off all the hot water in the city. Because that happened:

After that, I went a little crazy. My hair couldn’t get too short. I kept letting Andrea go as short as she would. It probably wasn’t the best idea:

So, I grew it back out and adopted the inverted bob cut Posh Spice (Mrs. Beckham) made famous:

And it stayed that way until early this year when absolutely everyone I knew had the same haircut as me. Friends at church. The woman in the grocery store. The anchor on TV. I wanted something different. Not knowing what it was, I started growing my hair out.

And know the climax of the story: I’m getting a haircut next Saturday (and a color for the gray, but you really didn’t need to know that!).

I’m kind of tired of my hair again. Ready for something drastically different. But I have no ideas. I am without thoughts. I am uncreative.

So, this is a pick-you-own adventure story and you get to write the ending. What should happen next?