The Rapunzel Phobia

This is another episode in the on-going saga of the long hair litany that I wrote about in The Samson Effect.  I’m sure I could write about this particular subject on a weekly basis, but I’ll try to stop after this one, although I can’t promise absolutely this will be the last since this is a real hot-button for Mom.

“Oh, look,” Mom called to me as I was leaving the living room to take her emptied dinner plate into the kitchen.  “Vanna’s hair is curled.”

I rolled my eyes and turned back so that I could dutifully check out Vanna’s new do.  “Well, that’s a nice change,” I commented.  “Doesn’t she usually wear it straight?”

“Yes.  And I’m so sick of these women and their long hair!”

For some reason long hair – which starts when the hair gets to be a couple of inches below the shoulders – will periodically illicit this negative, and often vehement response.  This frequently repeated complaint is triggered by TV ads, pictures in magazines and newspapers, and now, apparently, by Vanna White.

“Why are you sick of them?” I sighed, mentally taking odds on whether the answer would be ‘they look ridiculous’ or they all look the same.”

“Because they all look alike,” she said.   “I just can’t tell the difference between them.”

“How about some of them are blonde and some are brunette and some are…”

“Doesn’t matter.  They all look the same.  And it’s especially bad if their middle aged – like you and me.”

“We’re middle aged?” I asked rather incredulously.

Well, you know what I mean.  Older women look ridiculous with long hair.  If they’d all just cut their hair short and curl it then they’d look different.”

“Wouldn’t they all look the same – only with short, curly hair?”

“No,” she exclaimed emphatically.  “You could see their faces better so you could tell who they were and they’d all look different.”

I turned and slunk quietly into the kitchen thinking I’d better schedule a hair appointment since my own locks are creeping towards the dreaded “long” stage.  After all, I wouldn’t want my own mother to be unable to recognize me.  That would be a bad thing.  Right?


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