Farewell, My Hair

“Make me look like one of those Army Ranger girls,”

 I requested of the owner of Jerry’s Barber shop, who is in fact a pretty blonde lady named Jenny. 
     Now, a gal can’t breeze into a hairdresser’s salon and ask the stylist for an Army Ranger cut;  and even Jenny the barber was reluctant to accommodate my request..    
    But the problem, as I explained to Jenny, is that hair needs shampoo and shampoo needs to be carried in the backpack so the hair has to go. 
    "But I could just cut it real short for you," Jenny suggested,  "like I did went last time you went on your Spain hike." 

    This was the cut Jenny gave me two years ago when I walked into her shop a few days before my last Camino and asked her for a "guy cut".

    I considered for a moment then decided, no, this time I wanted to go for the Ranger Girl look. I wanted to give it a try. Just this once.  Just to see how it would feel. Just to see how it would be.
    "Okaaay," Jenny sighed, pulling out her clippers then proceeding, as my locks fell away, to list all the advantages I'd enjoy during my hike with this clean, neat, cool, cute, problem-free style.  I think she was afraid I'd freak when I saw the final result.
    But no, I didn't. 
    As I walked out of the barber shop I got stuck in my head the song I used to hear the soldiers sing as they ran their morning P.T. on the army post in Germany where I used to work:
                               I wanna be an Airborne Ranger
                               I wanna live a life of danger...

    Of course I don't want to be an Airborne Ranger or live a life of danger.
    I just look  like I do.