Love/Fail

Chapter 9

Annoying Pinspiration Quote #9

"When something goes wrong in your life, yell 'plot twist!' and move on."

When Savannah collected me from the waiting room on Tuesday, she blinked in surprise. "Well, that's a new look."

Since it wasn't actually a compliment, I didn't bother saying thank you and followed her wordlessly into her office.

She sat down and studied my new look. I'd lost about half the thickness of my previously lustrous hair and about four inches of length. It was lighter in colour and lighter in mass, and whenever I reached for my ponytail, a spark of fresh grief would sear through me as my fingers relayed, 'Something is wrong! Where's the rest of it?'

"Did you decide on a makeover?" Savannah asked, touching her own hair, which seemed to laugh at mine from its shiny thick coil.

"Long story. A bad chemical reaction." I explained about the hair chalk and the bleach, and how Steffan worked frantically to preserve the structure of the hair, even as it was melting and snapping away close to my scalp.

"Quick, sweetie, tell me what shampoo you use!" he'd cried.

"Uh, I don't know. Whatever is on special at the supermarket?"

Both Steffan and Rupert had gaped at me, dumbfounded. "Supermarket shampoo?"

"So? Not all of us can afford to pay thirty bucks a bottle for salon products."

Steffan was exasperated. "Supermarket shampoos are full of silicon – they make your hair look healthy, even if it's not. You should be investing in your hair."

Defensive, I'd said, "That's not cost effective. I go through a bottle every two weeks with hair this thick."

The hair critic lifted another clump of hair off my shoulder and tossed it to the floor. "Trust me, that's not going to be a problem for you anymore..."

In Savannah's office, I smoothed my hands over my left-over locks. "I've never had thin hair in my life. It's weird."

"I can imagine you're feeling quite upset about it." Savannah's face creased sympathetically, an expression I didn't think she was capable of. "I'm really sorry. I'm very attached to my hair – I'd be devastated if I lost it."

Forcing my hands away from my head, I sat on them and said, "Thanks. I was overly-attached to my hair too. It's kind of my defining feature. I don't have killer blue eyes or a stunning face or a slammin' bod, but I've always had crazy-thick, super-long hair, and it used to be something I'd get compliments on a lot.

"But I'm actually... okay. I'm not over the moon about it, but honestly, my hair looks fine. It's only me who feels the difference, because I know how it used to be. It's like I have to pretend it's always been this way, and then I don't feel so terrible."

"Comparison is the thief of joy," quoted Savannah.

"Right! Like, that's how I feel when I get anxious about my life. When I think about what my friends from high school are doing, I freak out because they have cute babies and handsome husbands and perfect homes and amazing holidays and incredible careers, and I have none of that!" I laughed self-deprecatingly. "I don't even have my hair anymore."

I looked down at my hands and smiled. "But when I just look at my life for what it is, without comparing it to anything else, I'm in a pretty good place. I have a place to live, a dad who loves me, great friends, my health, and a guy who makes me smile. Plus, the other half of my hair."