New Look

He and I have gotten into watching movies together.  Sometimes I swear that we pay for 250 cable TV channels and still there is nothing to watch.  And... it does seem like that sometimes.  It is particularly an issue in this part of the year when football season has ended and baseball season is yet to begin.  Over the last few weeks, we've watched both the Bourne Identity and the Bourne Ultimatum.  Neither of those are going to ever qualify as top drawer theater, but they are fun, and they do have some entertainment value.

I feel like I am coming back to life these days.  That survival thing has finally begun to recede, and along with it, the "survival look" is starting to let go as well.  For me, the "survival look" grew out of a belief that it mattered not at all what I looked like.  He was going to be angry and bitter and resentful and just plain mean ... no matter what.  Why bother with all that girly stuff when no one cared anyway?  Passing through the hell we all endured, I stopped doing the things that were once just part of my normal routine.  I quit shaving my legs and underarms on any sort of regular basis -- especially in the winter.  No one sees the fur, so why bother?  I moved to wearing very prosaic, very plain clothing.  My school wardrobe is very practical:  slacks and sweaters.  Nothing flashy, and definitely nothing "sexy."  Weekends and evenings?  I've gotten into leggings and sweatshirts.  Yeah.  Not awful, but not alluring either.  For years, I colored my hair; tending toward strawberry blondes and fairly subtle red shades.  But that, too, has fallen away.  I've just let my hair be its natural color -- a dingy mix of dull brown and even duller gray.  I have even gotten into "cutting" my hair myself; trimming my bangs with a pair of scissors and using an electric clipper to keep the sides cut short.  Not attractive, but functional and cheap.

And then ...

Watching the Bourne movies, I began to contemplate those "Bourne Women."  I became fascinated by the transformation that inevitably ensues when a woman becomes entangled with Jason Bourne.  Always, as things evolve, they find it necessary to alter their appearance and become "less recognizable," and it seems that the way to do that is to cut their hair very short and then dye it a dark, almost black.  So, there are these predictable scenes of beautiful young women, in dingy bathrooms, hacking at their own hair with scissors, and then washing out that very, very dark hair dye.  And, if the movie scripts are to be believed, the move to raven-hued and cropped locks renders them almost impossible to resist.  Sexy!

So, thing 1 plus thing 2 added up to my own "Bourne Woman" transformation.  After all, I already have the short-cropped thing going on, and a decent haircut by someone who actually is trained and knows how to do that gave me the impetus to go ahead and try out the darker color, too.  It felt sort of daring and a little risky.  I'm not at risk of being shot at by some unknown spy agency, but I do have to appear in front of a host of people who are between 11 and 14 years old.  Talk about a "tough" audience!

I considered lots of color choices, and finally settled on a color that is called "Cola," I read all of the directions and timed it all carefully.  I washed the dye out and rinsed and conditioned and dried and took a deep breath -- looked in the mirror, and saw my own face looking back at me from underneath my new darker mop.  And...  I loved it!  I know it is a small and insignificant thing.  I know that I'm no 20-something Bourne beauty.  There's no denying the age in my face.  I've earned those lines and every mark of character that gives away the story of years lived.  Still, I love my pretty dark hair, and the sparkling eyes that show even deeper framed by that "cola" color.  I might not be the one that enchants the Jason Bourne's of this world, but I sure like the look ...

swan