I Didn’t Need That Confidence Anyway

Note: If this story looks familiar, it’s because I posted a version of it today on my Facebook author page–and then realized that it’s a conversation that needs to stay in my memory for about forever. Or at least until this color fades.

 I saw my hairdresser last week after a long summer of sun-bleached hair torture, and, while she was fixing said mop of chorine-soaked frizz, she unintentionally turned me “bronde” (I much prefer my normal shade of “blrown”). I was feeling a bit down (I mean, it’s just hair, but when that hair is attached to one’s head, one tends to become attached) until I walked in the door to my house. Saoirse saw me, and her face lit up.

8.26.15. Hair. SK hair first day

“Mom!” she said, and touched it. “I really love your hair! It looks so PRETTY.”

I knew she liked it because my hair now more closely resembled hers, but I still held on to that last shred of hope that was my self-esteem. “It does?” I said. She was smiling in that kid-approved way that makes the world seem brighter, so I started to feel a bit better. Okay, I thought. Maybe it’s really not that bad.

“Yes!” she said. “You look like a mom now.”

“A mom?” I asked. “What did I look like before?”

“Oh,” SK said, and shook her head. “I did not like the blond before. You looked like a singer. Or a SUPERSTAR. This is MUCH better.”

8.26.15. Hair. Girls hair beach

Well, then. I suppose that settles that. Bronde is the new blrown, anyway–at least that’s what I heard around these circles. Those seven-year-olds better know what they’re talking about.

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