deviousways

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. I...