And off he went. Chop chop chop.
“Anne, how are you doing?”
Deep breath. “Good. Good.”
“Those green eyes are going to pop with this haircut. Mmm, mmm. You’re gonna be the hottest girl on the block.”
“Yes. Yes. Right.”
Chop chop chop.
“Anne, how about now?”
“You have the cutest face. This haircut is going to show that beautiful face off.”
“You’re right, you’re right.”
Then we dyed it.
“Oh my gosh. I’m… I’m officially a brunette.”
I stared at myself in the mirror. I couldn’t stop smiling and laughing. I was a new person.
I told Roddy I loved it, but I wasn’t sure yet. I said goodbye and drove straight to work.
When you were a kid, did you ever say something that made all of the adults laugh really hard in the room, and because they were laughing so loud and because all of the attention was on you, you started to cry?
That’s how it was at work. I didn’t cry, but I was emotionally unstable. Everyone was gasping, shrieking, squealing, asking if they could touch my hair, etc. I loved hearing that they loved it, but phew. I was so glad to be home after eight hours of “Anne’s hair.” Even the guys in the other room were talking about it all day. I kept hearing conversation after conversation.
I wonder why that kind of attention makes me feel so weird. But I could barely handle it. At the end of the day I wanted my lion mane to grow back so I could hide under it.
But after a couple of days of ignoring my reflection and staying away from photos, I can say that I love my hair.