
It's spring, it's raining, the greens are growing and I feel brand new. Well, my hair is. I chopped them off.
I had grown tired of my long, wavy mane after I had to fight with it every time I take a bath. It clutched and it clung at me like sea anemones. Also, the baby often tugs at the little that is left of it when she feels like riding a horsey. Most of my hair is in a habit of doing a free-fall. It is everywhere. I got so tired of it one evening that I took one of the kids' scissors and cut it myself.
But this kind of thing called hair just keeps growing if you happen to notice at all. Mine did and by the time I grew so frustrated, it had grown again resembling the appearance of a broom, but bushier and gristly. So they had to go.
I went to a hair shop. Or so it said in Russian in front of the place. But after a few weird stares of the people who were there as I walked around trying to find the one who mans the counter, I figured out that it was a man's world. A barbershop. Feeling like the village idiot, I exited.