My hair has been cut short and I am letting it go gray. My hair is summertime short today because a beautician, who shall remain unnamed, got happy with the scissors. I was watching her clip and snip. I had a thought or two about the progress but, hell, I don't know her job and my hair will grow.
Here's the thing, looking at myself in the bathroom mirror tonight, wearing a wife-beater t-shirt, tattoo on my right arm, hair cropped short, well, I think I look butch. Not just gay but butch gay. I have put on a pound or thirty so I also appear to be a bouncer for a gay bar. An old one with a beer belly and a quizzical look on her face. At least that is what I see in the mirror. I get compliments all the time on my hair and how flattering it is on me. I told someone I thought I look butch and that person laughed and laughed answering with something like this, "Girl, you are funny! You are not even close to looking butch! You are crazy, girl!" Truth to tell I did not know whether to be relieved or a tiny bit disappointed. My dramatic self thinks she is tough. The butch, grey-haired, big boned bar bouncer thing kinda fit part of me. At least the persona or the imagination of the persona intrigued me. The greater part of me, the one I take outside to walk around with, I'll call her my 'Walk around self" felt relieved although cautious. People will say anything just to have something to say.
I have an innate suspicion of folks. I believe they are not who I think they are so I smile with part of me as the "other girl" shrugs off their comments one by one. Compliments go first, opinions second. I save some comments for review later. I have a nagging feeling, born of part of me who is not quite sure if I got slapped or kissed. Ever the alcoholic who does not drink I tend to take some thoughts apart bit by bit searching for the reason to have a resentment or, if none is found, to toss that thought out with the thoughts I shed earlier.
Am I really this complicated or self- obssessed or narcissistic? The bubble popping truth is that I am, at the end of the day, none of the above. Years of therapy place me solidly in the category of someone who takes herself too damn seriously. Just look what a glance in the mirror and a haircut became. Damn!! I sit here, in my aluminum condominium, in a trailer park, knowing I am 62 years old, overweight, tired of dying my hair, seeing the evidence of an appetite that has a hold of me and wondering and probably wandering too.
Pssst! A Word Of Caution. Don't pick up your cat when he has just been neutered and you get him at the vets! He will pee on you and the floor and your shoes. He won't mean to do it. He's just an animal. You, however, will smell to high heaven and not be welcomed in public places until you change clothes!
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