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I was excited for my daughter. She received her first invite over to a classmate’s house. I happily drove her to her new friend’s house and walked her to the door. The father who seemed very friendly first greeted us. He escorted us into the tidy house and introduced us to his wife. She was a charming looking woman with a pleasant smile. We instantly hit it off and I felt safe leaving my daughter at the house for an hour. I explained I was running to get a haircut and would swing by on the way back. I kissed my daughter goodbye and off I went.
It was a long time since I had my hair done and I was looking forward to a new do. I wanted a transformation. I flipped through pictures until I found the perfect cut. It was sassy, young and a bit new age. My present locks were limp, dull in color and begging for excitement. I was thrilled with the hairdresser’s work. My once dark, straggly pathetic looking hair was now shorter, lighter, and hip. I could not wait for my daughter to see it, I knew she was going to love Mommy’s new do. I knocked on the door of her friend’s house and hollered through the screen, “I’m here.” The mother called out to come on in. I walked into the house anxious to see my daughter’s reaction.
“They are upstairs finishing a game, they will be right down,” the mother advised.
The mother and I engaged in some small talk while we waited for the girls. As I was complimenting her on the wonderful smell of her simmering chili, I heard a gasp behind me. “I hate it!” I turned around and saw my daughter looking at me horrified. I smiled and tried to give her the don’t do this to me eye but she wasn’t getting it.
“It is so ugly, why would you do that to your hair?”
I could feel my face reddening and sweat was starting to drip from my palms.
“Honey, you’ll get used to it,” I said through my clenched teeth. From the corner of my eye, I could see the mother fidgeting she pretended not to be paying attention to the freak show in front of her. Trying to change the topic, I instructed my daughter to thank her friend for a lovely time. The comfortableness I initially felt with the mother now turned into awkwardness. I realized that the mother never once mentioned my haircut, which must have meant she hated it too. I scooted my daughter to the door and promptly exited. On the drive home, my daughter had the nerve to say, “Mom, actually I do like your hair.”

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