Forgive me, Hair-Cutter Lady, I have sinned ...

it's been at least six weeks since my last trim. I'll probably wait a few more.

When Brooke was here, I was envious (as I usually am) of her long, gorgeous hair.

Does she trim it?

She looked at me like I'd just asked her whether she does something really wierd to it.

No, she said. That would be like throwing twenty bucks in the trash can.

But, I asked, doesn't she get split ends?

Again, the Look of the Wierd Question.

No. She just uses a leave-in conditioner.

So do I, but my hair looks like a Brillo pad without semi-regular trims. I blame it on the natural frizz of my locks (some days, it actually looks like natural curl). And no matter how many inches or half-inches I ask the Hair-Cutter Lady to take off, it still resembles, after a few weeks, something that belongs in a kitchen sink.

It's a little better this time around. I'm using a conditioner in the shower that has the consistency of Plaster-of-Paris. And a leave-in conditioner. And a shine/glossing serum. It seems to be working. For now.

All of that to still have to drag myself into The Salon, meekly sit in The Chair and explain what I need to have done. For whatever reason, I feel compelled to confess, as though it were a crime, that it's been eight (ten ... twelve ...) weeks since my last trim. I avoid eye contact with the Hair-Cutter Lady, because I don't want to see the condemnation waiting for me there in her eyes. And as though I were paying penance, I pay The Salon for the privilege of having my Healthy Hair Status reinstated.

I overcame the temptation last week to shave it all off.

But I should really get it trimmed sometime in the next few weeks. Or months.