I cut my hair this weekend and, since putting the scissors down, every time that I have looked at or gotten distracted by my hair, I have thought this phrase first: “What the hell?”

As a rite of passage into adulthood my painfully stick-straight hair decided to turn curly, but only the hairs that grow out from my ears down, and more on the right side than the left, so that I had to leave the right side 1/2″ longer than the left.

And it’s grown more and more curly every year so by now I have to layer my hair or else the underside curls shrink up in length to be shorter than the upper hairs. And more so on my right side (which now has to be 3/4″ longer — on the underside — to match the left side). It’s complicated. I would love to be one of those women who can wash their hair, scrape a comb through it and go. I resent every moment I’ve ever spent fixing my hair.

All that said, one simple, reliable truth about my hair is that no matter what the style of cut, the left side turns under and the right side flips up and tries some crazy shit. Always. Aaaalllwaaaysss. Until Sunday, June 17, 2012.

Now the right side turns under and the left side flips up. The right side looks good (or at least salvageable or maybe passable) and the left side looks like I combed it with a Cuisinart dual-speed, stainless-steel mixer.

I spent 20 minutes fixing my hair this morning. 20 minutes. Tweeeennntyyyy minutes. (I had nightmare flashbacks to high school.) And after that major time investment, it still looked a sketchy. (See earlier PTSD reference.) And, by the time I got to work, the left side had flopped, like the left side had taken a steamy, over-crowded school bus to work — where I arrived late because I had been fixing. my. hair. for. 20. minutes.

What is my world coming to at pam[at]viewfromthenorth40.com