Why is it that when I am out and about freshly coiffed from a haircut (and consequently, as oppposed to my every-day look of slightly wavy, slightly frizzy, often ponytail-ed hair, my locks are ironed and smooth and whoosh-whoosh in the breeze), I am profoundly self-conscious as I walk about, somehow internalizing the five minutes it took a skilled set of hands to use a styling tool to iron my flipping hair and morphing it into some call to the universe, "look at me!"
So, ironically, someone just said, "your hair looks nice."
Hide! Hide!
Secret power of invisibility, maybe...
Or, deal. Think about how you would like to see a 12 year old feel about herself, and model that. Confidence, gratitude, happiness.
And whoosh whoosh hair.
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