Cutting it
Don't know why, but every time I need a pick-me-up, I reach for the scissors.
Usually, it's just after I've read some fashion magazine full of impossibly beautiful people with perfect skin and to-die-for bodies. And of course, amazing hair.
So then, I tell myself, I need something new.
Ergo the scissors.
A snip here, a slash here, some maneuvering elsewhere and I look up expectantly.
Something, some inner hope blossoms. And I run to the mirror.
Is that a stylish fringe I see?Or a sassy bang shaping my face in new, wondrous ways?
Am I a glamazon at last? Freeing my inner spirited self while shedding all that's old-fashioned and tired.
Yup, there is the small matter of tidying up those snipped-off locks lying forlorn on the floor.
And yes, the cut is inexpert. But what the heck.
There's something extremely liberating about brandishing those scissors.
Maybe it's my devil-may-care self surfacing. Or my inner hairstylist breaking out of it's chryalis.
Whatever. It makes me feel good.
Usually, it's just after I've read some fashion magazine full of impossibly beautiful people with perfect skin and to-die-for bodies. And of course, amazing hair.
So then, I tell myself, I need something new.
Ergo the scissors.
A snip here, a slash here, some maneuvering elsewhere and I look up expectantly.
Something, some inner hope blossoms. And I run to the mirror.
Is that a stylish fringe I see?Or a sassy bang shaping my face in new, wondrous ways?
Am I a glamazon at last? Freeing my inner spirited self while shedding all that's old-fashioned and tired.
Yup, there is the small matter of tidying up those snipped-off locks lying forlorn on the floor.
And yes, the cut is inexpert. But what the heck.
There's something extremely liberating about brandishing those scissors.
Maybe it's my devil-may-care self surfacing. Or my inner hairstylist breaking out of it's chryalis.
Whatever. It makes me feel good.