L.R. Burt

Once again, I have succumbed the urge to do something drastic to my hair. I got a pixie cut:

So, do you think if I were to walk over to Albertsons, as I did one day recently, this would happen to me again? You know those ice pops — those little plastic sheathes with juice in them that you freeze? Delectable summer snacks. One warm day about two weeks ago, I had to a DVD to turn to the Red Box rental at the supermarket. I grabbed an ice pop on my way out becuase it was warm out and an ice pop seemed like a refreshing thing to have on a walk to the supermarket. I’m not sure if the ice pop really had anything at all to do with what happened to me, but I think I need to include it.

As I rounded the corner, I saw an old lady walking toward me. Coming closer, I noticed her dark, wizened brow wrinkled as though she was trying to figure something out. Naturally, I assumed she was wondering about my ice pop, so I formulated an explanation of what it was for when she inevitably stopped me and asked.

Predictably, the woman’s look of confusion deepened as she slowed and stopped before me on the sidewalk.

“Are you a little girl?”

I stared for a moment. Had I heard right? None of those words seemed to be about ice pops, and my answer about my snack being artificial fruit juice frozen in a plastic sheeth didn’t seem like it would do.

“P-pardon?” I stuttered.

“How old are you?”

“T-twenty-four,” I replied, not sure if that was right or not, and wondering if it would help any to say that I would be twenty-five in September.

The woman’s mouth fell open, and she waved her hand. “You look fourteen or fifteen,” she said, and continued on her merry way.
I, however, stood stalk still on the sidewalk, my ice pop melting in its plastic sheath in my hand, with the perplexed expression on my face the woman had worn a moment ago.

How had the woman been able to tell, from so far away as she was when she first saw me, that I looked like a little girl? Did she ask every young-looking female she saw if they were little girls? Why me? Was it my ice pop? Was it my height? My clothes? I was wearing an a-line knee-length corduroy skirt, cornflower blue top with a collar, a red hoodie, and brown sequined flip flops. It couldn’t be the outfit, could it?

Maybe it was just that she was old.

If she saw me now…

…would she think I look older than nine, the last time I had short hair?

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haircut, looking young, rude people, what the heck?