You hear a knock at your door and go over to open it. A woman about your age greets your eyes. You weren't expecting someone so gorgeous. She has deep green eyes, dark, curly hair that brushes her shoulders, and perfect rosy lips making a smile that melts your heart.
"H--hi," you stammer. "Come in. Thanks for coming."
"It's nice to meet you. I'm Lee," she says, extending a hand. You shake it, noticing something odd about your own hand. It seems very similar to her own dainty digits. And your nails look longer than they've ever been. How long have they been like that?
"What's wrong with your hand?" Lee asks.
For some reason, you pull your arm behind your back. "Nothing." You introduce yourself properly and guide her into the living room.
"Cole was right. You really do look like a girl."
You look at her shamefully.
"I'm sorry," she says, her grin disappearing. "That's not a bad thing. I didn't mean anything by it."
"It's okay," you say. "I know. Thing is, I was just at the store and everyone kept mistaking me for a girl."
"To tell the truth, for a second there I thought you were Cole's girlfriend. Or maybe your girlfriend." You tell her neither you nor Cole have girlfriends at he moment. As you speak, she gives your face a close examination. You step back.
"Sorry again. Boy that's a great haircut. You sure you want to lose it?"
You explain about your job interviews and ask her to give you something like your original cut. Nothing longer than an inch.
"I don't usually do cuts that close, but I'll definitely do my best," she says. "Can we use this chair? You probably want to grab an old sheet, too."
In a few minutes, you've set up the chair on the linoleum kitchen floor and are sitting in it with an old bedsheet tied around your neck and draped over your body. Your long hair hangs down the back of the chair.
"You really should donate this. It'd make an amazing wig."
"As long as it's off my head, you can do whatever you want with it," you reply. She asks for some rubber bands and you point to a drawer. She ties your hair in a ponytail with one of the bands, then secures the bottom end with another.
"Here we go," she says. With three careful snips, the ponytail is severed, bound tightly together by the bands. "I'll just drop that off with my friends at the salon."
She proceeds to cut the rest of your hair, remarking about how she rarely sees hair as soft and beautiful as yours. Hearing such things about your own head of hair makes you feel very silly.
After several minutes of cutting and combing, she puts the scissors down. "All done." She produces a mirror from her handbag and gives it to you. "What do you think?"