A fly sat on the edge of my wine glass this evening and I didn’t wave it away. Not right away at least. I was outside on the porch, sitting on my $1 rocking chair, reading a magazine and enjoying the last of the sunshine. The sun sets later these days, which helps me feel less closed in, but this is the first day in months that the weather has offered up both sunshine AND warmth. Almost 60 degrees, which when you’re used to 10 degrees feels like Bahamas heat.
This nice day will come with a price, of course: up to three inches of rain will fall during the next 24 hours and the temperatures will hold steady at 30-something. But we had one day. One day to revel in sun and warmth and the good feelings they invoke.
Spring-like weather is intoxicating. It’s also change-inducing. I want nothing more than to shed that feeling of dread I get when I see exhaust-tainted snow and half-melting snowmen this time of year. I don’t want a fresh coat of snow to cover it up or to give snowmen a face lift. I want grass and concrete and flies.
Enter my hair appointment. I was seeing Ashley today for the same old same old: quick color update and a trim. But while my head was tilted back in the sink, I started feeling that spring-like feeling, overwhelmed with a need for change.
Ashley and I were talking about the Olson twins and how we didn’t understand the whole mouth thing they did in photographs when I blurted out, “What if I cut my hair all short?” We’d talked about this before, at our friend Courtney’s wedding in December, when we stared in awe at one her bridesmaids who had gorgeous super short hair. We discussed it at length during the reception, boring her boyfriend and my husband to death, and wondered if we had the guts to cut our hair short.
As Ashley washed my hair, I thought about how was warm it was outside, how I didn’t have to wear gloves or warm up the car, and life was just different today than it was yesterday.
“Are you sure?” Ashley asked, in that junior high “oh my god” kind of way, like maybe if I did it, she’d do it, too.
“Yep,” I said. “Cut it off.” Ashley squealed and got out her scissors.
Ashley is really good at her job and there’s no way I’m going to be able to do it like this again, given my hair’s propensity for curl and my ineptitude with brushes, hairdryers, flat irons and the backwardness of mirrors, but I’ll try. It just feels so weird reaching back and running my fingers through, oh, maybe one inch of hair?
It wasn’t easy to walk steady through slush and ice on unshoveled sidewalks or to avoid cars by staying far enough to the edge of the road, which is still a foot into the road because of the snow, but we did and we talked and we laughed. I felt the enormity of the isolation I’ve been living in this latter part of winter ease. And that’s how me and my short hair (and a small black fly) came to enjoy some porch time.
Good weather, good friends and a good haircut. Can a girl ask for anything more? I got all that today and a kick ass bowl of homemade chili with roasted vegetables. Hey, when I’m on, I’m on.