Sour Grapes

When I was little, I recall watching The Muppet Show and seeing Crystal Gayle perform.  I thought she had the most beautiful hair in the world.  For those who don't recall, Ms. Gayle was (is? I'm not sure if she is still performing or even alive) a country singer and, in case it ever comes up on your next trivia night, Loretta Lynne's sister.  She was also known for having hair that easily reached the back of her knees.  My mother had recently made the executive decision to cut my hair into the Dorothy Hamill "wedge".  I was not a fan.  Neither were my grandparents, so I expected my Gramma's full support when I said I wanted hair exactly like Crystal's when I grew up. 
Imagine my shock when Gramma, rather than immediately buying me whatever potion would cause immediate super human hair growth, poo poo'd the notion.  Her exact quote was "Only Hillbillies wear their hair long past 30". 
Now, the "hillbilly" term was bandied about quite a bit when I was a kid.  My dad was from rural Ohio and was more than a little bit of a redneck.  We also had tense relations with my dad's side of the family, eventually cutting all ties for the benefit of my dad's mental health.  So, I knew Gramma did not share my opinion of my much coveted hair do.
I said hello and good bye to 30 quite a while ago.  I am still in my 30's and to be honest, have a bit of a death grip on them.  And my hair, while not nearly to the back of my knees, is probably the longest it's ever been.  I periodically hear my beloved Gramma's hillbilly rule in my head, usually when I am scrounging for a ponytail holder to get all this stupid hair out of my way. But I can't bring myself to cut it off. 
First of all, I like it, even though it gets in the way and makes wearing lip gloss impossible.  Second, I am reasonably sure I would look ridiculous with short hair.  I mean I did when I was 5, and I still look like me.  But most recently it dawned on me that this arbitrary hair rule had nothing to do with hillbillies, or aging or anything else.
My Gramma was hair challenged.  She had raging rheumatoid arthritis and took various medications over the years, at least one of which cause her curly, brown hair to thin and caused a (sorry, Gram) fairly large bald spot.  I was in high school when she got a hair piece, lovingly referred to as "the furry thumbtack" by family.  It was crazy expensive, but it made her feel pretty again, so it was worth every penny.  She would audibly gasp when we went together for haircuts and I would have mine intentionally thinned with a razor comb from underneath. 
My grandmother could not have cared less that Crystal Gayle was a hillbilly.  She had a bad case of sour grapes.  In fact, I am reasonably certain that if I told her now that I was considering cutting my long, thick, straight, shiny hair, she would probably try to beat me with a fly swatter.  So the hair stays.  In a ponytail, out of my way.