Greg was going to hate her hair. She just knew it. Or he would laugh. The woman who stared back at her in the mirror was not her. She didn’t have a forehead that showed like that. She loved a disappearing forehead. A forehead underneath a head of hair.

Here her hairdresser told her this was the fashion. All the women were wearing their hair this way. Her golden hair pulled back and held in place by the barrettes. No, Greg was going to hate it. What had she been thinking when the hairdresser proposed such an arrangement?

And now she was feeling the cold air against the skin of her forehead. She either had to go back to the hairdresser and admit she didn’t like it, go to another hairdresser or show Greg. None of the options were good ones. And she knew it.

Was there a way for her to make that forehead go away?

She started the unpinning. She shook her hair free of the constraints. It was short. She’d never had it this short before. What had she been thinking?

She picked up the scissors and snip, snip, snip. A little here, a little there. She fiddled with the strands for a half hour. Finally, the hair took shape the way she liked it. Though it was thin, the hair covered her forehead. Fashion or no fashion, this was going to have to do.

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