One Fell Swoop

I had all my hair cut off.

Well. Not all of it, though I was briefly tempted to do a Jamie Lee Curtis, or a G.I. Jane. I did it spontaneously, in anguish, having lost something dear to me that I felt unlikely to ever get back. I didn't donate the hair; it was an act far too impulsive for that. I was just sitting there, crying and crying over this loss, and I wondered What would make me feel better? A full body tattoo. Free-falling out of an airplane. Catching the next overnight flight to Paris. Ah, yes, but what would make me feel better that I can do right this minute?

Armed with four photos hastily grabbed off google images, I drove to the first Great Clips I could find. I sat in the chair of the first available stylist - I think her name was Tiffany. I showed her the pictures: Sheryl Crow with hair the length of mine; Michelle Pfeiffer with hair just below the shoulders; a pre-facelift Meg Ryan just-above-the-shoulders; and Charlize Theron an inch below the chin.

Obviously, I'd been on the fence up till the moment I sat in the chair. "Somewhere between this and this," I blurted, pointing to Meg and Charlize. "So... just above the shoulders?" Tiffany asked. "Yeah, but be careful, 'cause my hair is super heavy, so it will spring right up once you cut it... go longer than you think."

I guess Tiffany didn't hear that part, because I wound up with something more akin to Meg Ryan circa "French Kiss." Clearly, my dangerously high celebrity standards had, once again, backfired.

And yet it's perfect. Tiff got a really fat tip on the $11 cut. (Yeah, I know, right? So much cheaper than a full body tattoo.)

Thus I went from a 14-page double-sided letter about boring ancient history to a postcard from Biarritz in

ONE

FELL

SWOOP

of the scissors.