Hair (Day 13)

I keep writing these eight minute memoirs.

After almost a decade of terrible/decent/cute/okay short hair I stopped getting haircuts, (which was actually really hard, because haircuts are sort of my love language,) and let my hair grow long enough to tie up in a really messy knot. It was just easier, especially after Marie was born, to just keep my hair out of my eyes and off my face.

A few months ago I noticed that despite months of neglect, my hair was long. Weird how that works.

Then one day I (my friend Kate) dyed my naturally light brown (but often fake blonde) hair dark brown and cut a straight line of bangs across my forehead. 

This was an unintentionally great choice, for some confusing reasons. My favorite thing?

People leave me alone.

At the risk of sounding vain and self-absorbed, I'm going to tell you something: If you are blondish with the face of a cherubic Relief Society President, people are going to want to talk to you. Because you look trustworthy af and even though you hate 99% of humanity, your dimple and curly hair tells people HEY I CAN GIVE YOU THE DIRECTIONS YOU NEED, I CAN TUTOR YOUR CHILD FOR FREE, I CAN LISTEN TO YOUR DUMB MALE BRAIN TELL ME DUMB MAN THOUGHTS ALL DAY, I CAN DO YOU THAT FAVOR, LET'S TALK IN LINE AT THE GROCERY STORE. THANKS FOR FLIRTING WITH ME, I AM SO HONORED.

Suddenly morph into a vaguely goth looking mommy who probably steals her kid's ADHD medication*? Welcome to scrolling through your phone in peace for the rest of your life. People leave you alone.

It is amazing.

For the record, I actually like how I look with dark hair and sexy murderer bangs. Kate is a badass hair stylist and I think my hair looks great. I really, really do. But I also like the increased invisibility, and I don't know what that says about the world.

I do know that in so many ways, women's bodies are considered public property based on how we dress (asking for it) based on how, when, if we reproduce (let's defund Planned Parenthood, make abortion inaccessible, and criminalize women who chose not to become mothers!) and based on what we do with our bodies after the kids are here (Work! Don't be too successful! Bad mom! Stay Home! Lazy Welfare Queen!)

I also know that a combination of pregnancy/having a damn baby/nursing/mental illness took my body away for a really long time. 

So anything that lets me pretend, even for five minutes in line at the store, that this body is actually mine and not a walking advertisement for human interaction? I'll take it. 

*not that I need to, I have my own, thanks.