Risk Nothing, Gain Nothing

I will not jump out of a plane or off a bridge.  No need for me to soar like a kite over the ocean.  No interest in putting my life savings on a roulette table, or even crossing the street without looking both ways.  I am not risk taker.  In fact, I might be the exact opposite.

Looking back, I can't really remember any risks I've taken.  Except for maybe quitting my college backed career to pursue a childhood passion.  Other than that, nada.  I realize this is unfortunate.

Last week, I gave a woman with scissors in her hand full control, and she gave me bangs.  If I had published this blog a week ago, I would have said it was the last risk I'd ever take.  Day 1 went something like this.  Got hair cut.  Purchased a hat that the salon randomly was selling so that I could cover up the risk I'd just taken.  Fell out of the salon by finding and stepping on the one remaining patch of ice in Maryland.  Punched my finger through the side of my coffee cup during fall and was unable to save the remains.  Sat in a Dunkin Donuts parking lot and stared at myself in my mirror.  After deciding I was not ready for the world to see me, I went through the drive thru and got a new coffee.  Drove to work.  Sat in parking garage and stared at myself some more.  Found lone bobby pin in my car and with some help with some serious Control Force hairspray, pinned bangs back to pretend they never existed.  Got to work.  Took my break and went to GNC and bought Biotin and Hair Skin and Nail Formula, suggested to make your hair grow faster.  Bought purse pak of bobby pins and a few headbands.  Returned to work.  All in all, I think I handled it well.

The next few days were better.  I fought the urge to shellac my hair back again and boldly sported my new bangs.  At my mom's house the next night, my uncle asked me if I was wearing a wig.  He then said "I mean, it looks like a good wig."  My dad told me I shouldn't have cut my hair.  My aunt stared at me for a good 5 minutes in silence, while deciding what she thought of it.  Turns out, by the end of the night, she did. 

Since then, I give the bangs a chance about every other day.  And I have to say, I don't hate them as much as I did.  They're growing on me.  Ha!  GROWING on me, get it!?  Fine, moving on.  Now some of you might be reading this thinking, really?   She's making this big of a deal over a haircut?  But, I'll have you know that not only did I take a real risk here, but a few years ago, after 8 inches got hacked off my hair, I locked myself in the work bathroom and cried.  Then, I cancelled all plans I had for a week.  I'd say I've come a long way in handling difficult situations!

My stylist said that she gives people bangs and they get boyfriends.  Hmm, risk hair, gain a boyfriend?  I don't want to ruin her reputation or anything, but my membership to match.com expires in 6 days.   And considering that in 3 months I went on 2 dates, the chances are not good.  I guess I'll have to start meeting people in real life.  Bring it on bangs, bring it on...