Lie to Me -- I Promise I'll Believe

My hair stylist is an absolute doll, and she did a phenomenal job of creating the perfect pixie cut for me yesterday - the exact cut I asked for.  She even somehow magically planted a man in the salon to tell me just how fabulous I looked.  I was mesmerized; on the way home, I couldn't peel my eyes off the image in the rearview mirror and almost rear-ended someone -- twice!

Yet halfway there I found myself sobbing in the car.  At that moment I didn't care whether it was cute or flattering or stylish or empowering -- I just cared that it wasn't ME. 

How many times have I attempted identity transformation throughout my life?  Shoot - my students claim I don't wear the same outfit twice, and a colleague recently commented that I did something different with my hair everyday (which honestly - in the last month of school - meant that I either scrunched and sprayed the hell out of it in a quickie 5-minute non-do or somehow forced it into a sloppy barette or pony tail I convinced the kids was not "bed head" but was an intentional style choice).  I even bought a retro eyeshadow/pencil combo and started sporting an 80s icy blue I never  wore in high school.  But super short, non-adjustable hair?  I've never gone quite that far.  And I would have loved to have made the choice on my own - voluntarily - not because cancer was threatening to take over my head.

I must have spent a half hour in my bathroom, fighting with what now seems akin to stubble on my head in comparison to what I now perceive to have been silken locks (though on my last day with those locks, I got so fed up with them that an hour of straightening and styling led to another ponytail).  It took about that long for me to dissolve into tears again when I reached the agonizing realization that no matter which direction the stubble pointed, the woman in the mirror was not going to look like me.  At least not the me I knew.  Not the me I was.  And maybe that's appropriate, since I will never be that me again.

I must have changed my lipstick three times (in addition to powdering my face and readjusting my eye makeup) before taking at least a dozen pictures in a half dozen locations with different backgrounds and varied lighting before I finally sucked it up and posted the promised pic on Facebook.  I hated it, of course.  My nose looked as big as ever - my coloring looked extremely overexaggerated - and it was obviously one of those over-posed self-portraits I generally scoff at.  But I'll be damned - - the compliments began pouring in before I even had a chance to edit its caption.  And I have never before been so happy to be lied to.

Now I'm not saying that people thought my hair looked ridiculous and decided to manipulate me into believing the opposite.  But I do think they exaggerated in a loving attempt to make me feel good in the midst of crap.  Heck, even my dad's typical "You look fine" somehow magically morphed into "Even if you hadn't cut it under these circumstances, I think it would be an attractive style on you."  WHAT THE HELL?!?  It turns out cancer is a miracle worker!!  (Well, except for one male friend who decided it would "lighten the mood" to compare me to a woman who - while truly a lovely soul and treasured friend - is not particularly stylish or visually appealing.  I definitely wish he had flat out lied.) 

When my most inspiring survivor friend sent me three gorgeous summer hats and I posted another ultra-posed shot today, the hyperbole continued.  The following are some of my favorite "embellished truths":
    - Still a babe!
    - You need to anchor the news with that haircut!
    - Hottie!  She's a hottie!
    - You're gorgeous.
    - Love it, sexy bitch!
    - You look like you belong on a red carpet promoting your latest movie!
    - Now how darn cute are you Ms. Sassy Pants!
    - I've always been envious of your sense of style.
    - A-DOR-ABLE!
    - What a babe.
    - Girl, you are FIERCE.

And my all-time favorite, courtesy of a man with whom I graduated from high school and who repeatedly publicly praises his wife on Facebook (lucky, lucky woman!):  your hotness transcends hair and the big hat.  I love that one.

Haha!  While I write, my son's dad just walked in and did a double take.  His momentary "wow!" moment just may have made him forget his own troubles for a brief second.  Maybe that's another gift cancer provides - - perspective to those who don't have it.  I truly hope it does.  I hope that by giving me the lift I so desperately needed yesterday and today in regard to this hairstyle that so clearly belongs to someone else - not me - my friends are able to feel needed, appreciated, valued...  all the things that people deserve to feel on a daily basis and yet so often are deprived of experiencing. 

Typically I HATE being lied to.  But today, I feel particularly blessed that my friends love me enough to lie to me just when I need it the most.  It's not everyday I get to feel that much love. ;)