What a Difference a Blade Makes

So I thought of this catchy little title in response to the fact that my hair cut today gave me the best hump-day boost ever. Then I thought of it, in a different way, and thought that the responsible thing to do would be to let you know that I didn't mean any suicidal references.

With that obligatory disclaimer out of the way, I think it's safe to move forward.

I got my hair cut today after a 7 week delay caused by a changed cell phone number (my stylist) and an incorrectly saved one (also my stylist, no judgment). We seemed to pass one another like two ships in the night and I was crest-fallen.

You see, as it would (and does) happen, the euphoria of working out seemed to fade this week. After, all, I suffer from a little thing called the "what's nexts." Don't worry, it isn't contagious or life-threatening. Still, I've got it and bad. Since I've hit the one month mark and it is no longer new, working out just isn't sprucing the old goose anymore. It's hard and kind of poopy this week if you must know.

Then it happened, my stylist and I connected and the long-awaited appointment finally happened today. Talk about your glitter in the air moments! I sat there with anticipation of the magic and then wanted to do little butt-bounces when I looked into the mirror . You'd think I was on a makeover show of some sort. I couldn't stop looking at myself.

Oh, the vanity!

I took pictures -- several -- by twisting and contorting myself in the tiny downstairs bathroom. I shrieked and giggled and rubbed and purred. I was sexy damn it.

The funny thing is, that this week I've noticed my arms have new definition that glistens with sweat as I pump through spin or weight lifting or sit ups. I was impressed, but only like a 3 out of 10 on the old Richter scale. My bum has lifted visibly and you didn't catch me taking a picture of that -- not that anyone would want to see it just yet :o).

No, oddly enough, these things, things for which I've worked and sweat and cursed audibly in a public gym, did not inspire an uncontrollable case of the "hey-look-at-me's." It was a hair cut. Something I did nothing to earn and nothing to contribute to. I simply sat on my (slightly firmer) ass and was treated to a new me.

And I loved it!

It was, by far, the best thing that has happened all month. Maybe longer.

It got me thinking about what a difference a blade makes, a snip here and clip there, and I wondered if my delight in instant gratification makes me shallow or some other equally disparaging label.

I really tried to maintain my focus on this topic, but my hair is just so freakin darn cute that it's hard not to get distracted. I mean, have you seen it? If not I changed my profile picture so you can. I also changed it on Facebook and sent out a few images via text. . .

But I was talking about something. What was it? Oh yeah, avoiding the temptation to be shallow and valuing the things I work long and hard for and not the things that come via the quick work of a blade like my hair cut, which is sooooo cute. It's short in the back, with little pixies on top and longer sides that are just perfect. . .

Okay, so maybe it's no use. I want to have substance and sometimes I do. I read, and write, and think all the time. Really, I do. Even the big words in Jane Austen! But come on, I love what happened today under the blade. The beauty from the violent snipping, the cool air blowing against my newly exposed scalp.

If that makes me wrong, I guess I'll just be wrong. For today, I'd like to declare: "To hell with substance, viva la superficial!" After all, I won the hair cut lottery (and trust that I've had enough bad ones to feel justified in today's celebration) and I want to celebrate damn it!

Until next,