This was always pretty much me after a haircut in the city, and up until now since we moved:
This was me after my last hair cut in the ‘burbs.
That is certainly, um… fluffy.
Here’s the thing – everyone loves the damn puffy hair.
At happy hour afterward, one of the brewery owners declared, while sneaking a bite of my potato salad, that I had ditched my “grandma hair” (this is how you know they REALLY love you.) Her husband indicated that it was date night hair. General consensus is that the fluff = good.
The puffy hair gets A LOT of “how YOU doin’?” head nods (along with a move that my family has always referred to as “the Texas two-finger steering wheel wave,”) from dudes – primarily in Ford F4500-sized pick up trucks – at traffic lights.
In the neighborhood, at the grocery store, getting coffee…. People are friendly and open and ready to engage with me and my loose, fluffy curls.
Straight haired Keri? Fine, neutral, kinda meh attitude received.
What. The. Hell. People.
The hair? The hair seems to really like itself this way – the hair, it seems, AIN’T GOIN’ BACK.
I feel like the hair is living a different life. The hair fits in better than I do, FFS!!
It’s suburban hair.
And it’s on my head.
So here’s the question – is the hair a just sign of good camouflage?
Or has the metamorphosis begun?