Happy New Hair.

Happy 2016.

Happy election year.

Happy birthday.  To me.  I’ll be 29 years old in 10 days.  I ain’t worried.  I could easily pass for 27.  I could even pass for 25, maybe, if I grew my hair out, but I’m not going to do that.  Too many interesting strangers love my cropped ‘do.  In fact, just this evening I was stopped by a homeless lady as I was leaving Trader Joe’s.  She told me she loved my hair and that she used to have a haircut just like mine when she was younger.

“My husband used to tell me, ‘You look BUTCH!'”

“Oh no.”

“I would just turn around and say, ‘Well you’re a PUSSY!'”

I am simply not willing to sacrifice these wonderful interactions for the sake of shaving a few years off my appearance.

 

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