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Destinations, Dreams and Dogs - International adventure with a fast-track family (& dogs) of Old World values, adopting the Russian-Italian-American good life on the go…!

Spur-of-the-Moment Whim: Bangs

thYou know you’re getting older when you’ve lost your mind. Maybe you forget things, misplace things, lose your train of thought. I might be there in more ways than one. All that to say, I’ve recently had a birthday and so today I hovered between an old lady haircut… and bangs.

Are you catching this train of thought?

This is not the usually-rational me. It’s more of an impulsive-me, which is not really me at all.

I decided to get middle-aged bangs.

But as usual, life doesn’t always work out exactly as one imagines. I had envisioned a bit of fringe to cover my big forehead which might be growing bigger as I age, however, I was not interested in a bowl-like border. If done properly, I hoped for a sideswept, wispy look.

In other words, I could be a double for Ivana Trump in her earlier, more windswept/stylized20120510_095447_ivana_trump2_15/tousled look. Not the dreaded bowl-bang.

But alas, it was not to be. The bangs turned out to be more ear-length, instead of forehead-length. So we definitely dodged the bowl. However, I’m not so sure we covered the forehead.

I ended up with an irritating shank of hair that defied my natural-born, innate penchant for a helmet-head. The helmet-head, not to be confused with the bowl-head, did not usually move much. It simply looked fab except during hurricane-like winds, or the usual, summertime, horrific humidity, at which time I would default to the bun-head which exposed the receding forehead, which is why we were considering fringe in the first place.

thAre you getting this?

So, in case of the bun-head, there would be a shock of hair hiding half of one eye as well as giving me a headache, because I had to keep fighting the urge to hold or flip my head sideway to get the silly thing off of my face.

Which would defeat the whole purpose. It’s supposed to be on my face.

Or my forehead.  At least it wouldn’t be the ridiculous man-bun.

So I fight the urge to cut them shorter. Or tease them back, Gwen Stefani-style. Or blend them in and pretend they don’t exist.

At least I have options.

After all, I’m old enough to do what I want. No more settling.



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