If you've seen me, you know that I don't care about my hair. It's almost always just stuffed into a ponytail. I've always had bangs for two reasons: 1) to hide my tall, wrinkly forehead, and 2) I lack the patience to grow them out. When they get too long, I trim them. About twice a year, I get a professional cut.
Over the weekend, I went to Walmart for my biannual cut. The stylist graduated from high school two years ago (I know this and much more, because she talked the whole time). I hadn't even brushed my hair that day, because they always wash it before the cut. This one said she prefers to cut dry hair. Mike and the kids had finished wandering around Walmart and had come in to the salon to watch. I've fielded a LOT of strange, inappropriate questions about the formation of my family, but the stylist looked at all four of us, and (as she yanked a fine-toothed comb through my tangled hair till I thought my scalp would bleed) asked me one I'd never heard before: "Was your pregnancy with them very hard?"
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