Silly me. Here I am 68 and I can still go into a funk over a bad haircut. Doesn’t matter that I’ve had plenty of therapy to straighten out some twisted roots, consider myself a fairly enlightened person, able to meet life on its own terms most of the time. Most of the time.
But one bad haircut and I’m five years old again, pouting in the mirror at a haircut I hate, just like I did back then. For a while, anyway. Oh, I’ll rise above it. Maybe it’ll grow out okay, but right now it just looks O.L.D. So I’m in a haircut funk. Such vanity. God forbid I ever need to have chemo and all my hair falls out.