I live with one furniture arrangement furniture for a time, but then I think, “hmmm what if the couch were over here?" and I’m off, dragging and pushing. I used to move the pictures, too, to suit the new composition, but now I just leave everything on the walls alone. Otherwise one tends to focus more on the pincushion effect in the wallboard rather than the art. But the furniture? That’s fair game. Why not? If I don’t like the configuration, I can move it again.
Clothes, too. If I buy something and notice that when I go to wear it, I don’t quite like how it fits (oh, yeah, like you’ve never made an unfortunate purchase), I’ll think, what if I take in a dart, or a tuck or contour the seams? Why not? If my amateur tailoring doesn’t work, I can unpick what I’ve sewn. If that fails, well, I wasn’t wearing it as it was anyway, now was I?
I confess to a rather cavalier approach toward hair, as well. I like having long hair, and so I grew it for years. I enjoyed brushing it, and I got pretty good at an Edwardian roll, a French twist and even a little Topsy that I wore over one shoulder. I enjoyed playing with it, but I never thought that it suited me when I wore it pulled back, which, since I hated it swooshing in my face, was all the time.
Three weeks ago I opined to my stylist, the ever-fabulous Chris, that I wanted it short, but I’d spent a fortune in barrettes. He said no problem and lopped off six inches which still left enough to fasten back. I liked it, but it lay scratchy on my neck in the summer heat.
Back I went, this time with a picture of my daughter’s haircut, stacked in the back angled to a smoothness in the front. So cute! Her hair is a finer than mine, but Chris said it would work. He layered the back up another couple of inches, and I had a veritable riot of curls swooping long and smooth in the front. He knows I won’t blow it dry. I won’t flat iron it. I won’t, in fact, do more than wash and scrunch it, and this cut was perfect. Or almost perfect.
After looking at it in the mirror for two days, I wondered what if I had curls toward the front, too? I mean, I have all this wave in back whereas the front was just hanging there. Let’s face it, I’d already more than spent my hair stylist allowance, but I bet I could do it.
I got home from dance -- glorious dance where I’d held my bangs back with a little flowered clip -- and I took out my hair scissors. (Oh, yes, I’ve done this before.) I studied the angle of the cut in the back. I mean, it’s really difficult to cut your own hair in the back, because, you know, you can’t see back there even with a second mirror. But the front? Why not give it a try?
I worked from the ears forward in three sections and snipped just enough to get the layering that encourages the waves. And if it didn’t work? It’s just hair; it grows. It’s just a blouse; you can unpick what you’ve sewn. It’s just furniture; you can rearrange it.
What if? Why not ? Those are the questions I ask, occasionally followed by, “What the hell?” or “What the hell!” Oh, and my hair looks adorable.