The one where she shaves her head.

The first time I saw Napoleon Dynamite, the experience was much like what I have heard of others’. With each passing minute, there is a sense of, “….what.” With each subsequent viewing (my boyfriend at the time was a bit obsessed), the jokes grew on me. But there was one scene in particular that I never stopped thinking was just weird.

Something about this scene just made me uncomfortable. What the…. Why? Why would someone do that? I just don’t understand. 

Fast forward a few years. Because our world is crazy, this made the news:

There was an outrage! An uproar! How could this teeny bopping princess pull a Pedro and shave her head?

I’ll admit it. I bought into every ounce of it. Since I was studying social work at the time, we had many water cooler discussions about her various possible diagnoses, which is the pseudo educational way of partaking of all the Hollywood gossip. 

So the shaving of the head had been labeled as both weird and as a symptom of a mental illness.

Fast forward again to just the other day. I had gone running, and the heat zapped me. I was sick of the sweat, the humidity, and the general ickiness associated with running in the awful, awful Midwestern heat.

Perhaps it was dehydration. Perhaps it was fatigue. Perhaps it was a mild heat stroke. Regardless, the following occurred over text message:

Me: Can I cut my hair?

Husband: (Radio silence)

Me: (Interprets radio silence as permission)

Husband: (Too late) Want me to cut it when I get home?

My husband has cut my hair several times throughout our marriage—one of the perks of having a shorter hair cut and a husband who learned to cut his own hair on his mission for our church, who is also very metrosexual and thus FABULOUS with hair. Many times he has cut my hair, and his head has inflated six sizes because I will get questions of, “WHERE did you get your hair cut? It looks so good!” Darn him and his freakish abundance of talents.

The husband returned home to find me with clippers in hand and a lot of hair on the floor. He managed to stop me before I got to the top, so there is some resemblance of style and intention in my new do.

So, Britney, about all those DSM codes I was arbitrarily throwing your direction: I apologize. You’re in Louisiana. It’s frakkin hot there. Perhaps I’m just as crazy—but I totally get it. Props to you for keeping the long locks as long as you did.

I’m not saying it’s for everyone. But since going running with the shorn look, I must say…

I’d totally go Pedro on myself again.

EDIT: Picture for added effect. This is what happens when you take clippers with a guard to your head after a very, very hot day. Pardon the face I'm making-- it seems it's more difficult than I thought trying to photograph yourself in the mirror.