STRANGER THAN FICTION: HAIR TODAY, GONE TOMORROW AFTER VISIT TO STYLIST

It was the wise woman who once said, "She who can't change her life changes her hair."

It seems a bit trite for a woman to write about hair.

There are so many other problems in the world. Sickness. Hunger. The paparazzi.

Not to downplay the significance of those things, but bad hair is auniversal crisis. It affects women from Trinidad to Tilsit, from PilotKnob to Pensacola. Yes, there is bad hair sitting atop my head this very moment, and there's no one to blame but myself.

It started a few weeks ago, when I realized I was in my 28th year. That's dangerously close to 30, apparently the age at which teenagers will stop trusting me. (Or did that phrase die out 20 years ago?)

"If I'm ever going to make a change in my life, or my hair, now's the time," I thought to myself.

Then I realized something else. The short, sassy haircut is disappearing. Did you watch the Emmys on Sunday? Christine Lahti, long hair. Julia Louis-Dreyfus, long hair. Fran Drescher, long hair. They wore it up, they wore it down, they tossed it over their shoulders with wild abandon.

They twirled it in their skinny little fingers. They felt it move in the occasional cool breeze. Ahhhhhhhh.

Excuse me. I was having a long hair fantasy.

I've been feeling the clippers against the back of my neck since 1992, when I sat down in Stan's styling chair and said, "You really think I'd look good with short hair?"

Not that short hair is any easier -- a common misconception. It takes as much time to style but a smaller amount of "product," the hairstylist's word for "a very expensive assortment of mousses, gels and hairsprays that you might otherwise find at a major discount department store."

With short hair, there's no pulling it back into a cute "scrunchy"or kicky barrette. There's no wearing it in one style on Wednesday and something completely different Thursday. It's just there.

So in a moment of enlightenment last month, I sat down in Earl's salon and asked, "You think I'd look good with long hair?" He said yes, gave me an $8 trim and sent me on my merry way. I walked out remembering the good ol' days when my strawberry blonde tresses turned many a man's head. Or maybe it was my Amazonian height. I can't remember.

Now I'm in that hideous in-between stage. The hair is too long to have a specific style, but too short to pull back into a ponytail. I called Earl in a panic last Friday.

"Earl, I can't stand it anymore!" I screamed. "You've got to see me right away and HACK THIS MESS OFF MY HEAD!"

"Honey, I'm on my way out the door to a two-week vacation," he said. "I can't see you until Sept. 30 at 7:15 p.m."

Sure, I could go to another stylist, but Earl got me into this mess, and he's getting me out. I'll bet he's not even going on vacation. He's probably just letting me have a cooling-off period before I abandon my long-hair dream.

So now I'm scared to death some breaking news story will come up the night of my appointment and I'll miss it. I'm a dedicated journalist and all that, but let's get our priorities straight.

If I miss my appointment, my upcoming trip back to Missouri will be made with bad hair. How am I supposed to convince my friends and relatives that I'm leading a healthy, happy life in the Sunshine State if I come home with bad hair? Not to mention that I've not been able to tan since I've been here, so already I'll have to deal with the "You sure didn't get very dark for living in Florida" comments.

So, folks, keep me and my funky hair in your thoughts. And if you see me standing outside with a wild look in my eyes and a pair of pinking shears, approach slowly and take them away from me.

Otherwise, there's no telling what could happen.

~Heidi Nieland is a former staff writer for the Southeast Missourian who now resides in Pensacola, Fla.