A month ago, I cut 12 inches off my hair without batting an eye and mailed it off to be donated.
No fewer than three people have said to me, "but you had such gorgeous hair!" They then catch themselves, realizing that perhaps their comment may be misinterpreted. It reminds me of Little Women, (the book or movie, take your pick)- when oldest daughter Meg cuts off her hair and sells it to help support the family. The youngest daughter, Amy, sees her and says, "Oh, Meg! Your one true beauty!" I should just shake my head and tell these people that it is sad; I have no positive attributes remaining. (Dear protective and worried family-readers: please note the sarcasm.)
"You're not very emotionally attached to your hair, are you?" My stylist asked after sawing through my thick mane with her scissors. (Hopefully my tip will cover for a new pair of shears.)
I shrugged. "Don't get me wrong, I like my hair," I said. "It just grows super-fast."
Looking back, it took only a year-and-a-half to grow 12 inches. Huh. Sounds like someone else I know.
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