The Other Odyssey

There are two things in life that I will never under-appreciate: my birthday and a haircut.

A birthday is not just a day to celebrate your aging, oh no...it's a day that is meant to celebrate YOU. You get birthday cards from your grandparents with checks for $14, strangers wishing you a happy day and forgetting just as quickly, and at least one free meal (even if it's a hot dog your dad buys you from Costco because "it's just too good a deal not to"). I don't think I'll ever get sick of January 29*. (No, Oprah...not because of you. You either, Kansas.)

The other overlooked ritual I love is a haircut. I believe that guys are obligated to get one often enough (so the world doesn't look like the fourth Harry Potter movie) that they have lost the joy that comes with it. Ladies, you know what I mean. When you get to have your hair washed by someone with uneven bangs, who cut them that way to be 'original', but you secretly hope they understand that you're fine being 'mainstream' when it comes to the angles of your tresses.

And then they ask you what you want to do with your hair...and this is where it gets tricky. What you say in the next 1-3 minutes can alter your life for the next 3-6 months. Usually, I play it safe and say that I want a trim, some layers and maybe a dramatic side-bang. But this time, I was feeling the winds of time shift ever so slightly, in order to make room for a vital moment in a young woman's life: the grown-up haircut.

No, not the mom haircut. Not the senior citizen haircut where you get it 'set' every week and then never touch it again. Just a haircut that is short enough to say, "My days of long hair are behind me." (Note: Every woman has the right to take back that statement as their hair grows out and they feel the need to reenact the first 90 minutes of the incredible Disney movie, "Tangled".)

I told Cheyenne (whose bangs were quite even and hair was a color typically found on human beings) what I wanted, and she went at it. It's quite freeing to see your new style develop before your eyes, and have it be exactly what you want (all the while being complemented on the beautiful color of your hair and being told for the umpteenth time how most people would kill for red hair).

By the end of my hairy journey, Ulysses himself would have been satisfied with the progress made. I now have a haircut that SCREAMS "I'm not in college anymore".

You want a picture? I'd be happy to oblige.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, THIS is one of those posts where you ask yourself, "Why did I just read about her trip to Beauty Brands?" Because I tricked you. You're welcome.

*I reserve the right to alter this argument once I hit ages that begin with '3'.