I’ve just had my hair cut. And I’m crying.
You’ll think that I’ve had some radical sassy crop done, but no. My hair still brushes the top of my shoulders in a kind of graduated bob, a bit shorter at the back.
People tell me it looks good. Yes, but it doesn’t look like me. Before, I could always feel my hair brushing against me, I had something to run my fingers through.
My hair was waist-length until I had the kids, then it went up to mid-back length. It wasn’t ever a wild au naturele look, or comfortable Earth Mother. I often had highlights, or a few layers, you know the kind of thing. I don’t have any grey hairs yet—I must take after my mother, her hair didn’t change until she was in her mid-sixties.
I thought, for some reason, that I was too old for long hair. I don’t know why, I look pretty young for my age, but I suppose I was worried it was a bit old-fashioned...I don’t know.
I will never cut my hair again. Waaaah!
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