For the past year, I have been searching for the perfect hairstyle. For some wierd reason, I had convinced myself that longer hair would make me look younger; and besides, the Other Equal Half remarked to me, (the last time I really got a drastically short cut) "Oh. I really liked your hair longer."

So, in the name of marital harmony, I made a choice to keep my hair a little longer in the back. Hey, marriage is give and take. He stopped clipping his toenails in conspicuous places, etc, etc. You don't spend 24 years with somebody without givin' and takin.'

So, I figured that this year new job=new hair. Besides all those swanky babes on Oprah who changed their lives grew out their Mom Hair--how hard could it be?

This is how hard:

My hair had, frankly, taken over my life. Every morning when I got out of the shower I would practically genuflect before my Frederik Fekkai altar trying to get my hair to look swanky, shiny, sleek, sexy even (though not on Sundays.) My hair responded by being what it was--Sybill. I began to refer to it as the "crap shoot that lived on my head." My hair was completely unpredicatable. If a day was a straight and sleek day for me--my hair was wavy and sticky-outy.

I came to the conclusion that there was only so much room, emotionally and spiritually, for unnecessary baggage and that standing for fifteen minutes swearing in the mirror every morning was causing me to lose my religion.

Today I went to Local Chi-chi Salon, and plunked down $35 hard earned US dollars for a haircut. Layered, chunky, funky.

It has transformed my spirit. My eyes look greener than they ever have. The burgeoning crows-feet next to them seem to have faded, somehow. If I squint, it seems I have real cheek bones now. Oh my God, I look like I have lost 20 pounds! (Okay, that last line is total bullshit--I'm still fat.)

Other Equal Half has not noticed yet.

Small steps.