The strangest reaction I had to stress concerned my hair. I’m a faux redhead, and it had been months since I had covered the brown showing through. I had also let my bangs grow out and wasn’t happy with my lopsided widow’s peak. So I cut my own bangs. Then I went for a darker, less brassy shade of red. Here’s what happened:

Redder. Brighter yet darker. Bangs not perfect but decent. I feel a million times better. Now I understand why so many cultures associate mourning with hair butchery.

Today is Halloween. I am at work dressed as a 7-year-old fictional Parisian with appendicitis. All is well.


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