Whoever designed me did not design me to have long luxurious hair. Its a lifestyle choice: short hair vs long hair. For the last 15 years of my life, I have stuck to what I knew best: having the short no nonsense hair also popularized by Indigo Girls fanatics. [Tangent: I blame my mom for starting this trend. I had the Dorothy Hamill cut until the age of 8, and my quafts usually resembled a 10 o'clock news anchor. In old photos, I also was known to proudly rock a baby mullet.]
To say that I had the hair of a woman is actually putting it quite kindly. My loved ones have not been shy about pointing out my many male doppelgangers. It all began one morning when I went to visit my sister in Chattanooga about 10 years ago. I sat up early in the morning after a party at her apartment with a bad case of bed head. My ever-subtle sister, still with eyelids heavy from sleep, said "Your hair looks like a Goo Goo Doll," and then laid back down.
She was right. Johnny Reznick and I could have been twins. [Tangent: Why have the Goo Goo dolls come up twice in conversation today? I was just earlier talking about how in 10th grade I wanted "Slide" to be my wedding song. My how times have changed.] Since my sister's astute observation, it has become painfully obvious that no matter how chic and cutting edge I attempt to be with my hairstyle, all my supercuts soul mates just happen to have penises...along with gorgeous hair.
Exhibit A: "The Matt Camden":
Exhibit B: "The McCartney"
Exhibit C: "The Michael Jackson" [Tangent: This proves that even with long hair you can inadvertently have a male hairstyle....although I prefer to think MJ of having girlie hair. Too soon? I doubt it.]
I finally decided, after the whole Paul McCartney debacle of '09 that I needed to start being a girl. [Tangent: This need for femininity strengthened tenfold after a very elderly lady at a Cracker Barrell told my coworker (a girl) that she had "a nice young fella" (me). After she was corrected that this was indeed not a romantic entanglement and that I was a female, the Estelle Getty body double incredulously said, "Really?" and waddled off in her Easy Spirits. Yep. That'll do it. I still stand by the fact that the pink cardigan should have, at the very least, given her pause.] At that juncture, I got my ears re-pierced and started growing out my hair for the first time since third grade. Never being one to do anything halfway, I set my goal at 12 inches so I could donate it to Locks of Love. Anyway, my follicles are turbo charged in their growth rate so this seemed like a simple year long undertaking. It was comforting to know that when I got sick of having this ridiculous mane (which I most assuredly would), an adorable Cancer baldie could benefit from my vanity.
Right now, I am at about the 10 inch mark, and I have discovered that having this long hair is like having a pet. You have to keep it groomed and clean and pick up after it. Yes. I said. "Pick up after it." I shed like a Collie. Strands of my DNA can be found in every nook and cranny of my home. My bedroom floor has started looking like a Great Clips. At least I feel confident that if I am ever murdered or go missing, CSI will crack the case in mere seconds.
With each shower, I clog the drain and could make a baby toupee with each swipe of the pipe snake. I also find these unwanted visitors inhabiting nearly every morsel of food I attempt to place in my mouth. I have become immune to it, and I have come to terms that likely one day, I'll be cut open and a hairball the size of Montana will be found in my abdominal cavity. [Tangent: FINALLY! I will get my TLC freak of the week special.]