Hair.  It’s what defines us. Okay, maybe it doesn’t define us, but it certainly can help to identify us!  (“Be advised–suspect has brown hair, green eyes, and a really, really big frowny face.”)  I am typically a brunette.  Sometimes the hair is dark, sometimes it’s slightly lighter.  Rarely is it blond.

Not too long ago (I swear, it was yesterday) I got a hair cut.  It was my first major style change in years.  This haircut was short, stacked (sort of) and totally awesome, if I don’t say so, myself.  Everything was peachy and perfect…until it grew out…two days later.

Apparently, stacked hair has an expiration of one week.

So, I needed to go back to the stylist.  What to do this time, though?  Seems like it would be such a waste to just get a trim.  Maybe I should spice it up a bit?  Something a little edgier?

I wanted this:

I got this:

Okay, it’s not that bad.  But it is…stripey.

How did it happen?  Well, I guess something was lost in the translation.

Me: I want a few highlights up front.  Right here [points to forehead].

Her: You want here? [Tugs on my bangs]

Me: Yes!  [Thinking, thank God she understands!]

Her: You want a partial?

Me: Yes! [yes yes yes!]

Her: Ok!

She pulls out the bleach and foils and…starts on the side of my head.  By the time I realized what she was doing, she had already applied the bleach to my head.

At this point, I guess I could’ve stopped her.  Nothing says “cool” like one lone streak on the side of your head, right?  But, I figured The Universe was talking to me.  It was saying, “Christina, you’d look really nice with a bunch of chunky highlights.  It doesn’t matter that half the moms you know have this exact ‘do.  Yeah!  All the cool kids are doing it!”

So, I took a deep breath and gave in.  My hair was in this woman’s hands.  Literally.

The end result, not so bad!  I like it, actually.  It’s sunny and cheerful! Like me! (Right?)  While I don’t actually look like “me,” I’m not opposed to being someone else for a while! 😉  Who knows–maybe I am the stripey type?

A zebra can’t change its stripes, or so the saying goes.  Perhaps that doesn’t apply to moms…