Okay, so I did this to my hair today.

It's hard to see (and please excuse the mess in the kitchen), but I let the curls/waves do their thing while I did a whole spiky thing on the shorter pieces of hair.  I was all, "What the heck! It can't get any worse."

I had a couple of compliments from adults, so I figured, "Okay, this is a good change. I might consider this little thing I've been toying with for next stylist visit." It involves spiky things, in case you were wondering.

My outfit was relatively cute ... okay, it was passable ... fine!  It was within the decade, okay.  Yes!  THIS decade!

I was feeling okay today about my appearance.  I wasn't on point or on fleek or whatever it is the kids are using these days.  But, again, I was passable.

And so my day went merrily along.  I attempted to mold and shape minds.  They attempted to stage a coup.

As my homeroom was coming back into my room at the end of the day, and as I stood greeting them at my door with, "Clean your desks and get your agendas out," one of my little dears gives me one of those, "HOLY CRAP!" looks, and says, "Ummmm, Miss Murray? What happened to your hair?"

Not, Miss Murray, did you get a hair cut?

No, Miss Murray, are you doing something different?

Nope.  What happened to your hair?  And at the end of the day!  As if he hasn't laid eyes on me all day!

I swear. I am not sure why I try.  These fashion critics I am surrounded by each day are wearing down my ego to within an inch of the floor.

Oy vey! The Fashion Police have nothing on fourth graders.


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