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,
I love this! Totally encapsulates those eras.