The Cover of Geek Magazine

With that black, silky cape falling from my neck to my knees and my palms sweating nervously underneath, I looked at the ground. Those look like long pieces of hair—longer than I expected. Or wanted. But the mirror wasn’t in front of me yet. There was still hope. I started to pick at my nails, all the while peeling the skin off my lips.

As the hairdresser swiveled my chair around, I held my breath and looked into the mirror. I couldn’t help but think of Rapunzel and her hair disaster. I mean, I didn’t cut it that short, but I wanted to scream what her step-mother when that beautiful golden hair turned brown: “No! No! What have you done!” I wanted to gather it all up in my arms like she had done and–yes–maybe even fall out of a window and die.

At least there’s one princess out there that doesn’t have amazingly perfect hair—or even just amazing hair, for that matter. I mean, no one I’ve spoken to actually likes it.

Bernice from Fitzgerald’s Bernice Bobs Her Hair also came to mind. She bobbed her hair—obviously. Would that be better or worse in my case? I’m not even sure. I mean, she cried, so it must have been pretty bad. I didn’t quite cry…more like sulked and mourned for the rest of the night. The sweet taste of revenge was able to comfort her, though—I would never see my hairdresser again.

After climbing out of the chair and paying at the counter, we headed out to the car. “I guess I’ll be sporting the I-don’t-care-about-my-hair look for a while,” I thought. Only then I remembered college. I would have preferred to actually look nice.

I avoided the mirror—all mirrors, in fact—quite like Erika from that one Adventures in Odyssey episode. So unlike her situation, though, no one would be able to fix this cut. I really would be on the cover of Geek Magazine.

Well, Anne from Anne of Green Gables cut her hair too. And her reason was worse than mine—at least I told myself that. Free will vs. dying your hair green. She was right about one thing, though: having to cut your hair for a romantic purpose would have made the situation much more bearable.

I thought of Jo from Little Women. That was a good cause. Her sacrifice helped her sick father. And then Marian’s hair was cut based because she defied the sheriff in all his evil—at least in the BBC version. If only I had something to go on—some reason that I could present as the “real” reason for chopping my precious hair off and throwing it away.

But then there’s Fantine from Les Miserables, which I suppose is the definition of the worst haircut ever. My eyes widened as I imagined myself in her place. “I could look like a boy,” I realized in a single, horrific moment. I peeked into the mirror for a second but then promptly turned around. This called for a nap. And definitely chocolate. And maybe a few episodes of Call the Midwife. I collapsed into my bed and squeezed my stuffed Tigger.

“We’re going for a walk, Abby! Wanna come?” my sister shouted up from downstairs.

“No thanks,” I responded, then muttering, “I rather have as few people as possible see what I’ve done.”

Maybe I can look into some hair growing tonic…


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