Well, I did it. I finally got up the nerve to get my hair cut. It’s only been <ahem> 8 months or so since I visited a salon.

I typically do go a very long time between cuts because, well, it’s just hair and ponytails are my friend. (Jim has no idea how lucky he is to have such a low-maintenance wife). This time, though, was an exceptionally long time from one cut to the next, thanks to Covid. First visiting a salon was impossible; now that they’re open, getting in is a major undertaking … and health decision.

But on Sunday, I did it. I quit hemming and hawing, checked in online, donned my mask, and safely (I hope) survived a quick chop. In and out in less than 20 minutes.

I desperately needed the cut as my messy bun look had become more of just a big ol’ mess.

More so though, I needed a new ‘do because—get this—I need to have an “author photo” taken of myself in the next week or so.

An author photo. Because I’m halfway through finishing writing—authoring, if you will—a book scheduled to publish relatively soon, and the publisher needs an author photo for the back cover.

Crazy, right!?

I can’t say anything more about the book for now, as per the publisher I’m sworn to secrecy until closer to the publication date. But, hey, I figure my secret’s safe with you guys. (Stay tuned for more details … when I can share them.)

Anyway, back to the chop job. My before and after—as in, right after, when I hadn’t done anything with it other than wet it down:

How in the world did getting a no-frills cut become such a big deal, such a major endeavor?

Oh, yeah … Covid!