Hair Story: The long and short of it

This is a personal rambling which I am not quite used to. In fact, yesterday only I was mocking at a co-blogger Shomi Paul (whom I met at Ginger Claps’ ‘Four Wine Seasons’ event) about how she uses her blog just to rave & rant about her personal life. So, I am adequately ashamed to admit that this blog post, coming just hours after that conversation with Shomi, is nothing more than a frivolous useless rambling.

This is to talk about my hair which is presently very miniscule in length. I look grotesquely ugly when I am sporting short hair. And the transformation (from ugly to sexy) seems almost magical when they grow up in length. So, I would rather die than to sport small itsy-bitsy crops of tresses which hardly do justice to my otherwise-refined & delectable face!

But the big problem of my current life is that I’m suffering from a very nagging form of dermatitis which is compelling me to maintain cropped manes. It burns my heart everytime the barber runs his scissor on my deliciously lustrous manes (O, I love them so much, <3)! But currently I have got no other choice.

I fondly recollect the days when I would get a haircut just once every year. Yes you heard it right! I would be heading to the parlor only once in one year! And that too, when my hair would literally reach below my shoulders and my nagging mother would threaten to disown me, or worse, kick me out of the house. Thus, with just once-a-year visit to the parlor, I have made a fortune out of those savings. This also means that my barber or the hair-stylist (to use a more sophisticated and prestige-saving word) has become virtually a beggar! He would earn his bread & butter through my dense, black and bouncing hairs, till I decided to show him my face (and my head) just once per annum.

But now the tables have turned. I can feel his sneer and his fetish desire to have a go at me, every time I step into his saloon (which is becoming quite frequent). One look at my growing manes and he would start to sharpen his scalpel looking longingly and mouth-wateringly at my luscious little assets.

I am waiting for my old days to come back again. I am waiting for my vintage long hair to play havoc in my house again. I am waiting to fall in love with me all over again as I stand before the hourglass admiring at my most admirable self. May God bring back those good, old days back. Amen!

PS- I had forewarned you that it is merely a rambling. So, if you still read this whole thing and are deeply regretting now, then you yourself are to be blamed. But here is a big hug for listening to what I had to blah blah about! Yes, I can say stupid things for incessant hours, if I’m not stopped. But it helps my confidence if my audience is someone as patient as ‘you’! So, a big ‘thank you’. And now, you can comment below if you wish to counter-ramble!

~ a peeved short-haired 'Ritesh'