Laurel Ruesch

“But why!” I whined to myself as my mother and I drove to the hair salon. I didn’t want to get my haircut! I loved my long hair just as it was! I didn’t want a mushroom cut! My mom told me that when I get older I would thank her. I didn’t think I would ever thank her for what she was about to make me do. As we walked in to small hair salon, the lady at the front desk jumped up. “Oh, hello!” the woman said cheerfully. I stared back at her with my gloomy eyes. Unfortunately, I knew that my puppy-dog-pout wasn’t going to work this time. As my mom looked at the children hair catalog, I looked at the tall lady coming towards me. “Laurel?” “Yes.” “Its time for your haircut.” Oh no. The dreaded words. When I got into the chair, she whipped put her long, silver scissors. Then, she made the first, dreadful cut. “All done.” The lady said about a trillion hours later. I put my hands in front of my eyes, but then I snuck a look at my reflection. I was speechless. I walked back to the car with wide eyes. Everyone said that they loved it but, I didn’t believe them. But as I went on with my life after my tragic haircut, I learned to love it.