Sep 30 2001
hair cut
My insecurity always increases ten-fold whenever I venture into a hair salon. The reaction is natural enough I suppose. First of all, it’s hard for me to not feel dumpy whenever I find myself in the midst of many fadishly dressed men and women. I’m still wearing pull-on pants and a t-shirt with spit-up on it, for heaven’s sake. Secondly, dreaming of receiving that magical hair style that will transform me from mousy to glamorous guarantees that I’m never happy with the end result. I look better, but I’m certainly not going to give Audrey Hepburn a run for her money.
My nervousness at being in the salon was compounded by the fact that Sam was still at home. I haven’t spent much time away from him until today. It was strange how incomplete I felt. I couldn’t wait to get home and hold him once again.
