hairy weekend

Got my haircut today. It's not what I expected, but I'm learning to live with it. Earlier today, though, I was completely traumatized by my newly shorn dome. I told my loving husband that I wasn't going to play in our soccer game today because I felt self-conscious about my head. Of course I'm feeling self-conscious! Wouldn't you after an older white lady has just spent 20 minutes chopping your locks and telling you how "thick" and "difficult" your hair is? The thickness and the difficulty of my hair is well-documented; as a black woman, I'm reminded everyday and have learned to accept it. But being bombarded with these oh-so-thinly veiled insults about something I have ABSOLUTELY NO CONTROL OVER bring back those old school yard feelings of inadequacy and, yes, shame.

As I said before, by the time I got home I was very, very upset. But, apparently I have a lot to learn about that old adage "Taking one for the team". Apparently, I'm not supposed to care that my head looks like a monkey's sack. Newsflash, I'm a woman! Women care about what they look like. And while we're on the subject, how about making your woman feel wanted every now and then? It shouldn't take me throwing things around the house for you to realize I might need some attention. And staring at me Dr. Spock-style while I'm trying to read is not attention. Flowers, maybe the running of the bathwater... hell, invite me out to lunch sometime! How about a text just to say you're thinking of me? And he wonders why I still have male friends.

He calls himself not speaking to me now. Shocked, I am. Well, he can sit there all he wants. Sit there until he turns into an inattentive git whose life consists only of sex, soccer and pistachio nuts. Oh wait a minute.

Yesterday, we visited our friendly neighborhood Renaissance Fair. As usual, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. We were surrounded by D&D nerds and other outcasts and it was refreshing to see them in their element. Every outsider needs to feel like an insider now and then. The Renaissance Fair is the perfect place when you're sick of life beating you down.

As you've probably guessed, this whole "I'm quitting writing" thing isn't working for me. Although this weekend has been a nice semi-retirement, I can't deny my nature. I'm a writer. Whether or not I have readers is of no consequence.