It’s done. I went to the beauty shop today and got a buzz cut. A #2, or a quarter of an inch long. I didn’t look while she was doing it, but neither did I cry when it was done. (Maybe later; who knows.) It was more just … interesting. Who (or what) is that person in the mirror? … Wow, that’s strange looking. … At least I don’t have a lumpy or odd-shaped head. … Hmm, earrings help a lot. … The fuzz feels nice and soft. And it’s short enough to stop my compulsive pulling of hair to see how much is coming out.
The fuzz, of course, will continue to come out until it’s all gone, or at least done with whatever it’s going to do. But the tiny bits won’t be anything like the gray hairs I’ve been picking off my shirts. There was a time when I knew those hairs belonged to the cat. For the last few days, I haven’t been sure.
I was amused to read today that some women use sticky lint rollers to get the loosening buzzed hairs off their scalps. Neat way to deal with the problem. Great, now instead of pulling hair, I’ll be rolling to see how much comes off …
The buzz was a must-have after my shower yesterday. I kept having to wipe hair off my face — gross — and watch hair run the length of the tub and down the drain. Balding men may be used to that. I’m not. I might see a lone hair from an average shower. Thought I’d finally rinsed it all away but after exiting the tub and pulling up the mat, I was still seeing hair. Ick.
Once was more than enough. As soon as I was dressed, I made an appointment for the buzz cut.