Feb 28, 2006Family Uncaged

Okay, so I’m petty. Small. Silly.

Five days ago, I got my hair cut and colored (I have that kind of hair that needs to be damaged to have any body…and I won’t go back to the 80’s during my poodlish perm phase). I told dear Gaspar that I wanted a change. (I later regretted those few short words). But, to my credit, I said, “Do whatever you want, but NO red. I don’t like RED hair on me.”

We had our usual conversation while he highlighted and colored and cut. When I put my head in the sink, I saw the dye run into the sink.

Hmmm, I thought, that looks awfully red. I calmed myself down by thinking Gaspar wouldn’t color it red. It must be a coincidence.

He dried my hair, smiled, and handed me the mirror. The room was a bit dark so I did see a lot of red, but I figured something was just wrong with the lighting. He left. I ran upstairs to the upstairs bathroom and gasped. RED. Not red like a redhead, but candy apple RED. REDDDDDD!!!!! OHHHHHNNNNNOOOO! I almost started crying. Patrick came down. I hyperventilated (sort of.)

“It’s red,” I said.

“Yep,” he said. “Maybe you should call Gaspar back.”

I nodded. I took my red-headed self to my room and called him. It so turns out he had a little time between appointments and came right back. He covered it with brown, but the effect is not at all what I wanted.

Now I have brown, red, and blond hair in a terrible mismatch of dissonance. Really. I feel like a freak show, to quote my friend Jen, who uses words like that all the time.

I laid in bed fretting two nights ago. I’m in Lisbon for Christian Associate’s leadership summit. I couldn’t sleep. My mind went something like this:

I have RED hair. I look terrible. I’m ugly. How can I change this? What is wrong with me? I have a friend with cancer and I am concerned with something so superficial as HAIR! What a stuck-up person I am! How am I going to get my picture taken this week when I look so unlike myself? I want to crawl into a hole. Jesus, save me from my pettiness. There are starving children in Africa, for goodness sake, and here I am freaking out about my hair! Political trials aplenty accost this earth and I can’t stop thinking about my hair.

I woke up the next day and watched with great insecurity each person’s reaction to my RED hair. Guys looked puzzled, kept looking above my eyes to the hodgepodge of colors emanating from my head. (Now, to be honest, they probably weren’t even looking, but because I was so self conscious, I thought they were). This RED hair thing has made me paranoid!

What’s the point of this blog? Not much. No, I’m not posting a picture. I feel like I did when I got a perm in college that looked like a yappy dog who had placed it’s furry paw in a light socket. I don’t feel me. I don’t feel happy. I don’t feel pretty.

I know. I know. Jesus LOVES me. Even with RED hair. But right now, I’m just embarrassed and RED in the face and HAIR. I hope all you bloggites don’t think I’m utterly superficial after reading this prose of generous verbosity…all about RED hair!

So, I need to get back to living. And realizing that my worth isn’t based on my crazy hair or even my crazy, paranoid personality.