The title is an attack on myself. This post, when compared to my last one, is very hypoctrical. You know that Greek guy, Hypocrites? (pronounced Hip-oh-kret-ees) Well, I’m his mother.
The word hypocrisies? It should be hypocrisis. Not that there’s a hippo crisis. There could be, but my own dilemma has turned my thoughts to myself in a selfish, artificial way.
The source of this dilemma, this conundrum? My hair.
I reeeeeally want a haircut. I would like to get a haircut. I’d love a haircut – I need a haircut!
Soon I will be going to Italy and I have heard a few times recently that, upon meeting me, people tend to thing I’m a goody-two shoes who sits home and knits. “Really boring”, one girl said. “A good girl”, a work colleague said. “Kind of quiet”, from another.
While I honestly do sit home and knit sometimes, and I’m more of an introvert than an extrovert, and I hate getting into trouble, I want to be someone who looks exciting and fun because, heck, I am fun.
But – I am scared. I don’t want to be passed over because I look boring. First impressions are big in this society – seeing someone’s face on a display picture on Facebook can define one person’s impression of another. I don’t want to look boring, I want something happening on my face, something that makes me stick in people’s mind.
I want a different look and my hair is something that can do that.
Even though it is superficial. Even though it *gasp* costs money. Even though it’s all of that – it’s just a haircut.
Buuuuut…. I want one.