As Requested...

I have a request to expound on the teaser in the last post about not having long hair. Although this is a hard one to tell I will take one for the team, I may shed a few tears. So here's the history of why my hair never got caught in the rope swing while unwinding at the speed of sound is this:

At the tender age of 6 going on 7, circa year 1989, I had a desire to get my haircut. While on a trip to Colorado, my grandmother raved about the wonderful head massage she got while getting her hair done at the local salon. I apparently had already developed my propensity and love of massages while so young because I cried out with a plea to my mother, that I too wanted to get my hair cut and of course get a head massage. My request was granted and I was driven to the salon.

At this point in the story, my memory becomes hazy, perhaps is has something to do with trying to block traumatic, scary life experiences out. It's a defense mechanism. What I do remember is this, I got a hair cut but I never got the head massage only a spray down with the water bottle and somehow my request for a hair cut was interpreted to mean I wanted a hair cut like my grandma. I'm sure you are already imagining Relief Society hair/Roller set hair, and your imagination has served you well. I left that salon disappointed and confused on why I no longer had my luscious, dark curls.

This moment in time resulted in a 5 year drama of short, never cute hair because I didn't know how to do it or had never imagined such beauty as a flat iron. Don't worry I have school pictures to prove it. The battle was finally won in the sixth grade, which in my experience is not the best time to go through awkward stage in the grow out process. It's awkward enough on its own.

Before the hair was actually long I was mistaken for my sister's brother and other such gender guessing questions. Excuse me, for not having any determining feminine characteristics. The "girls" didn't come til later.

To answer a certain someone's question, I didn't have to worry about getting my hair caught in the swing because in my tender, elementary age years, I looked like:

Yes, this is Pat. I was Pat's long lost sibling complete with high waisted "dockers," button up shirt, glasses and of course the hair. It's true, I swear. I think telling my story has been cathartic and good for me, maybe now I can move on in my life... :)