At Least They're Committed

Wisps of high- and lowlighted bangs fall down my forehead and over my eyes. Perfect! I’m really beginning to like my hair! When the back grows out a little more, it will be just right.

Comments in the six weeks since I cut my hair:

Every female I know: “Oh my God! It’s so you, so sassy! I love it! You look 16!”

Van (hairstylist): “Awesome. It’s flattering. You’ll like it!”

The Kids: “Love it! Really like it. Looks good.”

D: “Looks nice.”

Scott: “It’s saucy!”

Kevin: “It fits your personality it’s . . . ” Me, “Sassy?” Him, “Yeah, sexy . . . ”

Brian: “You look totally different. I wouldn’t have known it was you.”

Joe the Drunk Dude at the Cantina: “Why do you white girls wear your bangs over your eyes? How do you see?”

So, that’s what I was getting at. I wear my bangs over my eyes in part because after I was fired as city editor of the small New Mexico newspaper, one of my reporters went to one of my friends, a photographer there, and said, “I always felt she sexually harassed me with her eyes.”

Ew! As if! Now, this guy, who had heart issues, consistently had chew stuck in his teeth, was skinny, translucent and balding with a comb-over, was really tough to look at and even more difficult to deal with.  He looked like a villain marionette and it was difficult for me to even gaze upon him, let alone be kind to him in the manner I was with all my other employees. But I forced myself and I must have done a good job. Hmmmm. Lesson learned.

His name was Roger and he went on to tell Chris, the photographer, that once in a meeting when he was looking at the sports editor’s ass (she didn’t actually have one, but whatever) as she was leaving the room, he looked up and saw me glaring at him as if to say, “You stay away from her, you’re mine!”

He had to have been kidding. I’d just been fired because God told the publisher I was evil and to then have Chris tell me this lovely tidbit of information knocked me down one more rung into the roiling, fiery pit of this hellish surrealism. Grossed out enough that it made me gag, I still couldn’t help but laugh!

Naughty, naughty eyes! How dare they sexually harass a man who my brain and every other inch of my body found repulsive! Obviously unable to trust my eyes, I now wear my bangs long.

So, yeah, Joe the Drunk Dude at the Cantina, that’s why this white girl wears her hair over her eyes.