The Story of My Hair (part I of a series)

I never knew quite what to do with my hair.

I think it's been in a ponytail for most of my life. But there was a time when even the ponytail option was not available to me. 

The photo above is from my hair's darkest days- after my dreaded Boy haircut. So dreaded was this haircut that I would have destroyed these photographs at the time, if they were in my possession. Thankfully, they surfaced years later, and I've healed so thoroughly from this disaster that I am even capable of sharing it with you.

You may ask, how did this Dreaded Boy Haircut come to be?

I think it was rather chic, in 1990, for women to have short hair- women with
a) less-round faces and smaller heads than I
b) more identifiably feminine features than I
c) an ax to grind about societal gender roles
Until this disaster grew out, I was frequently pointed towards the Men's room when I inquired as to the whereabouts of the restroom in public places.
Many women in 1990 would have called this 'liberating'. I, on the other hand, desperately wanted to buy a wig (we'll get to that in a later installation of The Story of My Hair) or just coax my hair to grow out 16 inches through nothing but sheer will.

To me, that expression says it all- "Dad, please don't take my picture until I look like a girl again. Oh, I guess you already took it...".