I Chopped the Mess

I had my highly anticipated (by me, anyway) haircut appointment last night, and I am so proud of myself because I didn't wimp out and just get the mess trimmed--we chopped the mess. And I love the new 'do. It's sassy. Pictures, then:

Before (Grace took this picture one morning right after we woke up, and I think I was coming down with strep throat at this point, and I was holding a screaming baby, so yeah. Not the greatest pic of me, but it serves my purpose here. Turns out there aren't any other recent pictures of me, sadly.):

After (taken this morning, pre-makeup):

Last night as my hairdresser was hacking away, she asked me if my husband knew what I was doing with my hair, and I answered defiantly, "Yeah, he kind of knows, but it's my hair and if he doesn't like it, too bad!!" And then the two of us spent quite a bit of time chatting about all of THOSE women who want to cut their hair but won't because their husbands want them to have long hair and how we are so glad because WE'RE not like that. But then on the way home I felt just a teeny bit sick to my stomach thinking about how Aaron would react when he saw my new 'do and I thought, "Oh hell, I AM one of those women!!!" And when I got home, Aaron's precise reaction was, "Wow." That could mean one of three things:

1. "Wow, your hair is short like a boy's and there's no way we're having sex until your hair grows to at least between your chin and your shoulders."

2. "Wow, I really like it."

3. "Wow. I need time to formulate an opinion on this one, so I'm just going to keep making vague overtures to buy myself some time."

And then he told me that I should dye my hair black. I'm not sure why.