Today’s photo is all about embarrassing myself, I suppose. I was about 24 when this photo was taken. Yes, that is my real hair. See, for most of my life, I was really strongly emotionally attached to my hair. I always had long hair. As a child, I wanted to be Crystal Gale (this photo shows her hair quite well – I think it’s only down to her knees now, but I remember watching her on TV once when I was little and her hair was just inches from the floor). I cried – more than once – when my mom made me have it trimmed because the ends were so split and dry and ragged. I would beg the stylist to cut it as little as possible – if she wanted to cut off 2 inches, I’d plead for a half inch. Eventually, it grew into what you see in that picture. Certainly not the most ragged long hair ever – I did have it trimmed at least once every 3 or 4 months – but hair that long is almost impossible to really keep healthy and pretty. I finally had it cut shorter after David and I got engaged, and it stays a little longer than shoulder-length now – long enough to make me feel pretty and so that I can easily put it up in a ponytail, but short enough to keep it healthy. I go to my fabulous stylist every 8 weeks for a trim, like clockwork (that would be the Angie in the title of the post; she never saw my hair super-long).
And don’t even get me started on those unflattering jeans or that baggy top – yick!