My hair

Got a haircut last week. I look like a man.  It is that simple.

If you see me in public, please do not mention the hair. I will scream, "We are pretending it does not exist!"

I am not handling it well. 

I want to tell my hair, "It's not your fault, it is mine.  You didn't do anything wrong, it is all my face's fault." 

David told me that I do not look like a man and that plenty of ladies have this same cut.

He was right.  Ladies who look like this:

"Poor, poor David," I thought, and then I decided I would just go into hiding for a week until it grew a little.

While in self-imposed isolation, I started thinking about my WORST hair experience thus far in my life.  (And there have been some doozies.)  But the Crème de la Crème of Haircut Nightmares was definitely the first time I had my hair curled for an important middle school dance.  My hair had never held curl before, so the lady wound them extra tight.  When she removed them, I looked like this:   

In case you are wondering, that is me in the middle with my face contorted in absolute horror.  I think I kept that same pained look the entire night.  Most people who saw me made the same face that my friend on the right was making.

Just looking at this middle school photo is making me feel better about my current buzz-cut.