13.
“Oops” my mom said.
“What do you mean 'oops?’” I asked quietly and not without a touch of hysteria.
“Oh nothing!” my mom cheerfully trilled. “We’ll just even it out a bit!”
Later, in front of the mirror: “Isn’t this FUN!” she enthused.
Thirteen years old, with a request for a bob and my mom (still not so great with scissors or spatial awareness in any form; many times she’ll cut heads into strange octagons when scrapbooking family albums) I now stared in tears at hair, my hair, cut into the shape of a bowl, if the bowl stopped halfway down my ears.
“You know”, my mom confided years later over a glass of wine, “Now I would just take you to Great Clips.”
21.
“Oooh!” my roommate squealed.
Tangled blonde hair down to my butt, new life where I had a black butte porter every night after work. I was changing everything so when I asked my roommate to give me a new look she was giddy.
Chop, chop, long hair fell down around us on the floor of our basement apartment. “You can’t see it til it’s done!” she said and I was not afraid.
Strangers started to stop me as I walked around downtown Portland. “Who cuts your hair? Give me their name!”, circling around to take in the early 2000s pixie bob short bangs hair waxed art. Rocker boys with lip rings started asking me out at coffee shops.
“Blegh!” my roommate sighed, annoyed after a few months of this. “People think you’re way cooler than you really are.”
I love this! Totally encapsulates those eras.