“Oh! Just look at your hair! It’s lovely!”
Beaver Super. Just picking up a few items. And yes, my hair is actually done, and not under a hat. Or bandana.
“Honey, you are just so cute. You don’t need to hide under your hat. I always see you with your hair covered. Really, it’s super adorable!’
Not trying to be vain here, but I agree. I dig my hair. Eyrn at Sense of Eden brings the stuff!
“Thank you so much,” I stutter out. I begin to go into an explanation of why I cover my mop, but realize she’s already convinced I hide my shag ’cause I’m insecure about it. She’s very sincere it her encouragement of me. So I let it ride.
But, here, on my blog, allow me to explain.
On most mornings, I wake up, get dressed in exercise gear (that is, unless I haven’t slept in them to save a step the next morning), and immediately tie on one of my bandanas, of which I have several colors, but alas, none with bling (well, not yet).
My bangs are long.
I like long bangs.
I can not work out with bangs flopping in my face. And since working out is one of those non-negotiable activities of my day, I get dressed for work. Ing. Out.
Ok, so that doesn’t explain the hats. I don’t work out in my felt, fleece, or burlap hats.
I just like hats. Cute hats. That’s all.
I also like my hair.
I sincerely appreciate the compliment.
I’m ok with my hair. And wearing colorful bandanas/hats around town. And gym-wear.
It’s all good.