Granny to Granny, and it was my fault.

I remember not too long ago making a decision to let my hair grow.  As I'd had a pretty short style for a while, the growing was taking forever, and somewhere in there, I cut two inches off the back and thinned the sides and top with rusty thinning shears.  The rust made no difference.  I looked even more like a granny than ever.  And I know I am a granny, but I thought I could stave off the granny hair bit.  

Today I passed a salon I used to go to, felt my steps slowing and soon arrived back at the salon door.  As soon as I'd asked if someone was available, I wanted to run.  Didn't.  I wanted to go home and change so that I had an edgier look.  Didn't.  I damned myself for decreasing my edgylook by having worn pearl earrings. Drat.

I walked home from the market with an imaginary brown paper bag over my head so no one would notice that my hair had been styled.  I never do that.  I mean I never style my hair, not that I never wear an imaginary bag on my head.  I often do that. 

At home, I washed my hair, let it air dry and looked just like I had on my way downtown.  But somehow I looked like a shorter granny who hadn't been able to explain "edgy".