Before.*
After. Do I look like a dude? (Yeah – Nels!) Note favorite hoody. I love it. I am stroking it right now. If I’m not wearing it, it’s in the dirty clothes waiting to be washed and I am thinking about it.
I haven’t had my hair short (boy short) in about eight years. Somehow everytime I have asked for short hair the stylist convinces me I don’t really mean it and I end up with a stacked bob instead (I don’t know what that is, I just made it up). Fuck that! As you can see here, I look great (note abovementioned webcam caveat). And now I can just Wash-‘N’-Go! Oh wait, that’s what I was doing before.
From the moment I first decided to cut my hair short (a 1995 softly-feathered Peter Cetera-esque creation executed by my best friend Amore) the fear of ending up with “dyke hair” loomed and became a kind of in-joke between me and my friends, a term which means almost nothing to me now since the handful of dykes (great band name!) that I do know do in fact have wonderful hair. I guess what we really meant by that phrase was this sort of vaguely boyish (in a bad way) permed-in-back, spiked-on-top aggressive ‘do (and don’t tell me you haven’t seen sooooo many dykes with hair like that!) that Father Time proved was less about lesbians and more about bad hair choices. Now that the phrase doesn’t really apply I’m open to a new one.
Between the kids and I the Hogabooms have been relieved of quite a bit of hair; all that’s left is to shave the cat and wax Ralph’s back. For now: back to babysitting Abbi’s children as she gets her hair colored (aka “Brassy Whore”) by the same stylist who whacked my locks.
* Don’t mock (even to yourself) my webcam poses. It is actually impossible to take a webcam photo of yourself without looking very pretentious (while simultaneously “loser”) so I don’t try anything cute. Also, I think it’s pretty sweetly vulnerable of me that the webcam points directly to the most cluttered, randomest area of our home (note especially in After picture).