Scarlet Letter

I'm an adulteress. I've been unfaithful to my Hair Guy.

He's a great guy, and he's been incredibly good to me. Time and time again he squeezes me in that very day when I, frantic and fed up with the tangle atop my head, call and whine. He constantly tells me how great my hair is and how cute I am. I'm 51. I am no longer cute, but sitting there in that chair, he makes me believe it, for a few minutes at least. And, when he heard that we were having to send Hugh to boarding school, he gave me a free cut. "I know the budget's tight," he said. "Consider it my contribution to Hugh's future." This is the amazing Hair Guy that I have betrayed.

But, well, my hair hasn't been looking so good, you know? Not a lot of excitement. Same ol' same ol'. It seems like Hair Guy no longer understands me. We've grown apart. I just, I just want something more out of my hair. Is that so bad? so wrong? Is that too much to ask?

No, of course not, I told myself, but Hair Guy and I will work it out. We just need to spend more time together, work on our communication skills. We've both invested far too much to end it all now. So I told myself.

Until last week when I went to pick up a cafe' au lait at the coffee shop on Chimes Street just outside of campus--and just down the street from Eutopia Hair Salon.  In a moment of madness, overcome by my passionate hatred of my hair, I veered off the sidewalk, rushed up the steps, threw myself inside, and blurted, "Do you take walk-ins?"

One mid-morning caffeine-deprived loss of self-control. Oh, the self-loathing. The regret. The "if only" and "I wish" and "if I just would've"s.

Except I gotta say, I've got one funky cool haircut. I really like this cut. I may well love this cut.

I've booked my next appointment at Eutopia. So the question is, does a really great funky haircut distract from the scarlet letter on my chest?