When I go to the hair salon, I rarely do anything dramatic. I usually touch up my highlights, cover the dreaded grays and request a trim. This required maintenance of split ends and dark roots is a mystery to my husband. When he sees the bill, he always questions why I spend over a hundred dollars just to walk out of the salon looking exactly the same.
I’ve considered coming home with a spiky purple mohawk so he can feel like he’s getting his money’s worth. But I am convinced that even if I did, he wouldn’t notice. And it turns out, I am not wrong.
I recently grew tired of long hair and decided a change was in order. I instructed my stylist to chop it shorter. She dutifully snipped over four inches off the length and darkened the color. I didn’t have time to let her style it so I pulled my hair up in it’s usual messy bun and headed home.
The next day, I rose early to wash, diffuse and primp my new do. I was eager to show my new hairstyle to Dave before he left for work. I headed downstairs where he was drinking coffee and dramatically walked past him. I figured at a minimum he’d notice I was wearing real clothes and makeup, if not my much shorter hair.
He said nothing.
I poured a cup of coffee and sat across from him. We chatted about the kids schedule for the day, my upcoming trip and the weather. Still, he didn’t mention the hair.
I gave up on him noticing and pointedly mentioned that I’d chopped my hair off. Yesterday.
He sat up straight and scrutinized my appearance, a mixture of confusion and panic spreading across his face. Sensing he was entering murky feminine waters, he rallied with what he thought was the perfect excuse.
“I didn’t notice because you put your hair up last night.”
I smiled tightly and pointed out, “Well … its not up now.”
Dave slowly put his glasses on as if it would help him better assess me and murmured, “Oh, yeah. I see it now. Sure. I guess it does look a little different.”
Exasperated, I pushed him for a better response, “Its not just a little different. I cut over four inches off.”
Dave looked like a deer in the headlights as he tried to figure out what I wanted him to say. “I like it. So … uh … will you still be able to put it up … you know, like how you put it … up?” His voice trailed off as my my expression became incredulous.
