Emily: What shape is your face?
Emilie: What's the appropriate cut for the biggest freaking head ever made?
Conversation goes on to encompass the bowling-ball head of Emily’s younger child, the pinheadedness of my child and Emily’s husband, and a potential hairstyle that would make me look like Annie Lennox in her Eurythmics days.
Then my email dings at me to let me know that my bud Jenny has created the New Me:
Emilie: Actually it's not bad, but I can't do bangs like that. Cowlick. I've tried and tried, but they just don't look right. I can't decide if my bangs are the problem, or my forehead. There's just so much of it.
At that point, I stopped seeking Emily’s opinion.
Seriously, WHAT is the deal with hair and why do we put so much time and effort into it? My boss has a shaved head – I’m thinking of adopting his philosophy. Just comb it with a washcloth and you’re good to go. Pretty much every man I’ve ever met has encouraged me to grow my hair back out into some version of my 80s do. Which is easy for them to say – they’re not washing, drying, and styling it, much less getting a toddler dressed, all while trying to get out the door before 7:30. Who has time for hot rollers and flat irons? And besides, I’m nearly 40 years old. Do I really need hair that looks like it walked straight off a Farrah Fawcett poster?