hairstory (or why I didn't let that random guy cut my hair)

If this hair of mine could talk, it would definitely have some crazy stories to tell. Like the time my momma chopped it all off because I was too "tenderheaded"...Grandpa cried, apparently. Or the years of enduring "Milli-Vanilli" jokes in elementary school because I wore long micro-braids (kids can be cruel). Or how about the really cute bob cut senior year of high school...that was not so cute once I had to brace a New England winter without hair covering my neck.

Since "going natural" with my hair this year (i.e. not getting a chemical relaxer to straighten it), I've accumulated a whole new set of hair-stories. Some are related to managing the wide variety of curls and textures that somehow coexist on my head. Other stories arise out of funny questions that I am asked by friends and strangers. But the question I got last night was a first, I think...

While sitting in a coffee shop, watching the end of a NFL matchup between the NY Giants and the Seattle Seahawks, I was approached by a soft-spoken gentleman with an unidentifiable accent:

Guy: "Excuse me... may I, may I ask you a question?"
Me: "Yeah, go ahead."
Guy: "I am doing a hairshow...and I think...you would be very good for it."
Me: "Uh-huh."
Guy: "I was wondering if you would be willing to go a little shorter with your hair."
Me: "Ummm, no, sorry, I'm growing it out actually."
Guy: "Oh, well, thank you. Thank you for your time."

A hairshow?! I guess I'll take it as a compliment. But I've seen what some of those stylists do to people's heads...especially when they get "scissor-happy." (Think Edward Scissorhands.) A trim turns into a razored asymmetrical cut with funky rainbow streaks. Yeah, I'll pass on that one.

On the bright side, I now have another story to add to the collection...and Seattle won the game in overtime.