Since my birth, my hair has been an issue. I've seen pictures of cherubic babies with a fake bow plastered to their adorable little heads... enter baby picture of me, fake bow ensnared in a tangled mass of something resembling thick seaweed. Yep, my hair. At first I played the game with my hair, I attempted to tame it, but eventually I had to concede that I fought the good fight and call it a day. But where am I going with this, you ask?
This Saturday I got a hair cut. I've gone to the same professional for my hair cuts for years, and she's never let me down. She always manages to make my hair look better than it has a right to. This time I asked her to cut it much shorter than usual. She graciously complied. She did show me what seven inches looked like, I think she doubted my resolve... at any rate, we did the cut and I think it looks great. Yep, no false humility here, the hair looks great. I got compliments. Stewed Slacker said it looked nice. The Beardocrat even said so...
Wait a minute! Then I remember, the age old hair cutting rule. NO ONE TELLS YOU YOUR HAIR CUT LOOKS BAD! I, myself, have been guilty of telling a girl I liked her hair cut when I REALLY thought it looked horrible. I mean BEYOND horrible.
And then I remember, this is still ME here, and I am narcissistic enough to like my hair independent of what others think.