whenever I see women who are holding a cup of tea and feeling blessed I want to grow my hair out.
I picture these ladies making satisfied sounds like "mm" as they sip their tea and snuggle up in a home knit shawl, and am suddenly thirsty, imagining all the water I haven't drunk and all the fruits and vegetables and nuts and seeds I haven't consumed. I want to cleanse and stretch and find a certain peace that will produce the robust and dewy complexion I see. I imagine myself, voluptuous and full lipped, bright eyed and smooth skinned, muscles concealed a smooth sheath of elastic flesh.
This is how I picture one feels catching a sunrise or enjoying the last wisps of a sunny day. Swimming in a river, you imagine such an image, or meditating a lake. This how one looks drinking a glass of wine on the veranda after a day of recreational exercise and a night of full sleep.
Then I capture a glimpse of myself in the mirror: sharp edges and fine lines, piercing but tired eyes, round, yet somehow lacking a certain vibrant voluptuousness one associates with youth and am forced to admit that a certain ship has sailed. I am not saying that days of beauty or fitness are behind me. Hell there are handfulls of celebrities to show us just how hot a lady over 40 can be. But that other thing. The pretty pretty smooth and soft, glowing and flowing beauty of carefree youth: she, as they say, has flown.
And so I make an appointment for a hair cut.