Different kinds of scissors and razor blades are working their way through my hair. I can see long pieces of hair falling to the floor and a slight panicky feeling comes over me. The stylist doesn’t notice that I am about to burst into tears. She keeps chopping away and babbling about how much hair I have.
When she is finally done she asks me what I think. I am speechless. I can see in the mirror that the smile I am trying to give her looks slightly hysterical. But at least it matches my new do. Silently, and 140.00 bucks poorer, I walk out of the saloon wondering if people are going to be able to tell the difference between me and Max. Max who is completely bold.
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