(Note: if you are my Mother, you might want to SKIP reading the following post as it involves HAIR that is being CUT, and I know how that… upsets you… You have been warned, Shirley!)
My girl got a haircut the other day. Cut and color. She'd been wanting to chop the old locks off for a while now, and who am I—the global embassador of short hair—to stop her?
I mean, it's not like it's that short. It's still longer than mine, which means I still WIN! But she can do artsy-moody pretty well, so maybe I need to watch my back.
She also does the winsome, contemplative side-gaze fairly well.
Oh, who am I kidding? In the generationally transcendent words of MC Hammer: you can't touch this.