Am bored with the hair.
Am tired of looking like the woman who ran with the wolves.
Am exhausted of explaining to the mother that, yes, mamma, I did comb my hair this morning. With the comb and not the fingers. And yes, that is supposed to be deliberately coloured golden strands and not because I havent been near hair oil for a while. And no, thats not because of vitamin deficiency. Mamma, look at me, do I even LOOK like I could be malnourished in any way?
Am fed up of unwitting catching a glimpse of self in any reflective surface and recoiling with a shock, wondering if it was Samara climbing out of the well. With her clammy rotting hands reaching out for me. Yup considering the state of my manicure, that might be true as well.
And exhausted of slapping on the serum/conditioner and hoping the hair will decide not to stand at dandelion halo attention.
Therefore, am thinking of getting a chop chop off to the shoulders. Controllable by hairbands. And skull caps.
Opinions, and wise words solicited. Deadline — till I get meself an appointment. Knowing me, I might just take myself to the neighbourhood Chinese salon tomorrow while the child gets lettered and get the deed done. Yup, actually, thats what I’m going to do.
Style suggestions, pliss. With image references. Am thinking Parisian chic. Chin length. Never mind if the rest of self is more Bedouin mamma.