About three summers ago, I chopped off my hair in an extremely short cut because I wanted to get back to my roots. I really couldn’t remember the exact shade of my hair, and curiosity motivated me to hack off inches and inches until I got to the uncolored roots. I spent another two years leaving my hair its natural shade—a cross of browns, reds, and grays. Eventually, the layers of my short style grew enough for me to cut it into a bob. From there, I simply let it grow. Usually, when my hair hits shoulder length, I feel compelled to change it in some way. This time, however, I resisted the urge because I’d made a personal pledge to donate my tresses to Locks of Love (http://locksoflove.org/).
When I left the house this morning, my hair flowed midway down my back. I’ve never worn it this long. I swept it back in an efficient ponytail and headed over to a Great Clips because the stylists always do such a wonderful job taking care of my mother’s trims. I didn’t have to wait long. The stylist quickly braided my hair, paused for a dramatic moment and asked, “How much?”
“All of it!” I replied. Before I could change my mind, I felt a firm tug and saw my hair suspended in the stylist’s hands before she folded the braid over and set it on the table in front of me.
“Do you have any idea of what you want me to do now?” she asked.
“Whatever you want!” I felt empowered by bravely leaving my hair in the hands of the expert.
She pulled up a few strands, fluffed and studied me for a moment. Then her scissors flew quickly as she snipped, stood back, and snipped some more. I closed my eyes and let her fashion a style for me. When she finished, I couldn’t believe the change!
I don’t know if I’ll regrow my locks to do another donation. For a little while, I think I’ll enjoy this “new me” for a few months.
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