C donated her hair on Thursday. It's so cute I could just die. I might too because she looks so different. UH. In a good/bad way. She looks cute in a good way, but not in a way that a woman wants her daughter to look at age 10. Here's the pic though, so you can all enjoy the cuteness and celebrate that someone somewhere is going to be wearing the healthiest wig with the thickest most wonderful hair. Thinking about that makes me feel a little sorry for the woman who gets the wig made from my hair when it's finally long enough, which according to my calculations, won't be until AFTER the next Richmond Marathon. No really, it grows THAT slow.
For the record, C donated 13 inches. She could have kept 3 for herself, but she didn't. She wanted SHORT hair. (and she wanted to stop arguing with me about her hair brushing, drying, braiding, tangles, detangler, etc and so forth).... so here's a quick reminder of exactly how long it was the week before Christmas...
and here she is on the day of the donation. Brittany at Nesbit Salon did the cut for free, so C got the big fancy salon experience and I don't have to sell anyone to pay for it...
Once the hair was measured, we had to come up with a plan. I knew C didn't have a ton of experience asking for styles at the salon, so I went up and told Brittany what I thought ("leave as much as you can"). Brittany told me what she thought ("That's a good plan, we'll leave as much as we can"). And C interjected and said, "no, I really do want it all cut off. Make it short." So I motioned at her chin with my hand and she said, "Yes, that's really what I want".
So, now we had a plan.
And after about 30 minutes of cutting, and shaping, and gasps (C's because the first cut was made with a straight razor blade), and a few tears (mine, hello, C was chill) this was the final result:
and because this blog is about ME, I think I should mention that my life flashed before my eyes right about now when I snapped this photo.