My Self-Worth is totally tied up in my hair.

Here's the long and short of it. Yes, the pun is intended. Keep reading you'll get it.

And no...for once it's not dirty. Imagine me blowing a really long, loud raspberry in your direction.

I have a theory. Here it is: I'm single because I have short hair.

I read an essay in Harper's Bazaar or Vogue, one of the two, once that talked about the difference in long and short hair. To paraphrase the essay this is what happened: Men were shown photos of attractive women with long hair and short hair, IE the same woman. I think they probably took their picture before and after they got their hair cut. They were then asked to pick which woman they would rather have a long-term committed relationship with and which one they would rather have a fling with. Apparently you don't have a snowball's chance in hell of getting hitched unless you have long hair.

Thus presenting a grande problemo por moi. I have short hair. And it's stupid hair. My hair will not grow past my shoulders. Don't get me wrong, I totally love my hair and it is freaking amazing at looking good short, it's hot. But it refuses to be long. It seriously has never been past my shoulder's in my 27 years of existence. It get's to my shoulders and has some dialogue with itself like that video of the french people on the interwebs a couple of years ago where they were all like, 'But I am le tired.' So it just quit. It was right behind my metabolism in the line of things to quit in or involving my body. Thank God I'm still fighting the good fight against gravity.

I'm just going to go ahead and warn you.

I have a new aspiration. If you've seen me in the last week you've heard about it. Let's just say, the blonde ones are totally my undoing. My plan to woo said blonde David is to grow my hair out. And bake things. I am going to grow my hair out. It will happen. I promise not to run to my hair savior and beg her to chop it all off, which is what always happens. Well, maybe I shouldn't promise; I'll try really hard. I really hate it long. I really, really hate it. But if men are going to take me seriously then maybe I need to grow my hair out.

God, how bad does that suck? I typed that last sentence and I kind of hate myself for thinking it.

'Hey boys, notice me. I have long hair exactly like the woman mainstream media has taught to you to idealize. Yay.'

I should take a moment to say right here that all of my friends have long hair and it's beautiful on them. I just happen to have a stupid face. It requires short hair. They, my gorgeous friends, wooed their collective husbands and boyfriends because they're all smart, funny and beautiful. I'm just bitter. And don't necessarily want to grow my hair out but something has got to give.

Because growing my hair has to be a lot easier than growing a set of testicles and putting on my big girl panties to ask him to go out for a drink or something.