My entire life, my mother always insisted that I would look awesome with my hair cut short. She had a platinum bob all through high school and I figured it was just one of those 'living vicariously through her daughter' things and I just wasn't down with that.
When it came to my mom, I was always a rebel, yo.
After her death, I had a surprising urge to give the short hair a try. It wasn't one of those cut-all-your-hair-off-in-grief impulses; it was more of a 'maybe she was right about something for once'.
I walked into the salon yesterday and said, "Cut it off. All of it."
And she did.
By the way, taking a picture of yourself in the bathroom mirror is much, much harder than one would think...
(Yes, I ate a light bulb. Hush.)
(Again with the flash. Sigh.)
(The "WhatYouTalkin'BoutFool" or Mr.T picture.)
(Yeah, screw it. That's about as good as it's getting...)
But seriously, tell me you don't see the resemblance:
Okay, mom, I concede that once you may have been right.
But just this once.
Honestly, I really wish she could be here to see it...
Shut up, I have allergies.
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