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2001-10-16 | 5:11 p.m.

So I got my hair cut and colored today. I was brave and got the swing bangs, even though I don't dance swing. I convinced myself last year that I shouldn't get the haircut without knowing how to swing dance, because it's a little like going around in lederhosen or something, but now I've changed my mind because all the other options were too soccer Mom. Kiki even opened the book and said, "Here is this year's soccer Mom." (Since I know you're wondering, it was a very Carol Brady 'do).

But Kiki didn't want to do the swing bangs because she was worried I would hate them. (I doubt the technical term is "swing bangs," and not all the people who have them, presumably, are swing dancers, but that's the way I think of it.) We went back and forth on it. And it's hard to say now if I love them or hate them. With bangs this short, it's very easy to slide out of aging hipster wannabe Bettie Page mode into developmentally disabled with hair cut by nursing home staff mode. But as I pointed out to Kiki, if people think I'm slow, maybe they won't expect much from me.

She said, "Oooh, you're bad."

So my impression is that people seem to hate it, which is not bothering me as much as much as you might expect. The last two times I got my hair cut, nobody noticed, and the time before that, I sat on the couch and cried like a baby because I looked exactly like a cafeteria lady. Well, this time around, I may look a little weird, and I may look developmentally disabled, but I damn sure don't look like a cafeteria lady. And the color is fantastic; dark red with highlights of golden red. After worrying so much, Kiki was very excited by the results and threatening to do her bangs the same way. So you never can tell.

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