My feet sweat in my sneakers.
My t-shirt pulled under my arms.
My hair rubbed at my neck.
I tucked, pulled, squished, shrugged.
I could not get comfortable.
I wanted to rent my garments from my body and my hair from its roots.
I burned out the last of the caffeine scrubbing in the shower and fidgeted into bed with a foggy plan forming.
I dropped my last daughter off at preschool after a harried rush to the others’ bus stop.
And waited in line with the other little old ladies in front of the walk-in salon.
I chopped my hair.
I spent the remainder of the morning scouring sale racks for totally new togs.
I squandered the entire morning, returning to the preschool just in time for their singing debut in front of the senior luncheon.
The teachers, the secretary, my neighbors – all did double takes.
How brave you are, they said.
How different you look, they said.
How great it looks, they exclaimed.
I felt like it was an act of desperation. The only grip on unpredictability I can grasp right now. To leave as one thing and come back as another. To blow off all responsibilities and should-dos for one morning in exchange for a few no-need-fors.
My daughter didn’t flinch.
It looks beautiful, Mommy, she said.
I don’t know if that spells success or failure for my desperate mission.
I’m sure your hair looks beautiful. I can’t wait to see you. Sometimes we just need to try something different.
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Sometimes chopping off our hair is the only thing that helps, and it can be liberating.
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It somehow felt like a passive-agressive stab at what was really bothering me. Whatever that was. I should probably try to figure that out and face it head on!
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