Sarah Roush

Sarah Roush

I should have known better. More than a month ago, my hair was almost to the point where I needed to break down to get it cut. A task which has not brought joy to me for years. As I have aged, my baby fine hair has thinned and has made it a pain in the rump to deal with; it will not hold a curl or stay in place even with hair goo. Barrettes, hair clips or bobby pins are useless, ditto with hairbands. Forget chic little scarves or hair combs — they fall to the floor almost immediately.

When we were first ushered into the Stay at Home order, my first thought was, “pajama pants time! Whoo-hoo!” I did not really think about my hair. After all, this was only going to last a week or two — right?

Obviously, it hasn’t worked out that way. This week, I have been continually swatting at my face, my hair has reached the perfect length for getting between the eyeglasses and face and being an irritant. Short of using duct take to hold it off my forehead, I am not certain what to do. Not once has trimming my own hair ever worked out well.

I briefly thought about asking the hubs to cut it, then I remembered what our dog looks like each spring after his annual haircut. Since he generally refuses to come out during daylight, you know his level of embarrassment is high and rightly so. Our tools are also limited to a pair of sheep shears, a set of dog clippers and my kitchen scissors. None of which inspire a lot of confidence. The hubs shaves his head, this task somehow makes him feel he is qualified to cut my hair.

I pointed out the fine texture, the wave on only one side of my head, the cowlick and the widow’s peak, which contribute to the never-ending series of poor haircuts. He did not even blink an eye as he declared they were no big deal. This merely confirmed to me they were indeed a bigger deal than previously thought.

It was late last night when I had a realization; I was either going to have to hold my bangs out of the way with a rubber band removed from a bunch of broccoli, or return to the large hair of my youth. The massive teased, curled, blown hair of the 1980’s — which helped burn a hole in our ozone layer from the used cans of Aqua Net.

I am still debating which option is better, but I need to go to the feed store later this week and a decision will need to be made. No matter which I select — it’s not going to be a good look. On the plus side, a mask will be on, so maybe no one will know it’s me.

Written and submitted by Sarah Roush for The Circleville Herald. The views of this column may not necessarily reflect that of the newspaper.

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