The Truth Hurts

On Saturday, I got my hair cut.

Chopped, actually. Hacked off. It used to be shoulder length, and now it's at my chin. I do this about once every year or so, whenever I get bored with long hair, although this is the shortest I've had it cut in quite some time.

I wasn't expecting my husband to swoon when he saw me, but I was hoping he'd like my new style. At first, he seemed to, but the truth slowly came out.

His first comment was, "it's cute." Then, "well, you know I really like you with long hair, but it's still cute." Then, "maybe it won't get in my face anymore when we're sleeping, so at least there's a bright side." Then the inevitable, "you're the one who has to like it, so it's really your opinion that matters."

But he smacked me with his real feelings later, when I commented that with my new haircut, I look a little older.

My sweet, darling husband said he agreed, that I "look old."

Um...not quite the same thing.

But I guess that for as much grief as I've given him about his hair, I probably deserved that.