Just what does he see when he looks at me? (Or, men are strange)

On Friday I went to get my hair done. It's been three months since I had highlights and things were beginning to look tired. I'd gotten into the habit of routinely pinning my hair up with a clip, and because it's my hair (fine, but reasonably thick and very slippery) it was always falling out and lying in straggles about my neck. I'm thinking lank, as a word to describe it.

So I went for a shorter style -- nothing too dramatic -- but at least four inches shorter. A different look for sure.

I arrive home and enter the kitchen. Ian turns from his computer, looks at me, and says:

"It looks darker".

Me: "You always say that. I'm not blonde you know."

Ian: "I know you aren't. [He doesn't really. He thinks his daughter is naturally blonde, too.] It just looks darker that's all."

Me: "It will lighten up after a few washes."

The rest of the evening was uneventful.

The next morning we went out for breakfast as we usually do on Saturday (and often on Sunday, and sometimes on Friday too.) We went to our usual spot, and Jeni, the proprieter, took one look at me and said: "You've got your hair cut. I like it!"

Ian looks quizzically at me: "Is it shorter? Oh. I guess it is."

Men.

At least with Zephyr you know she won't notice. You could come home bald and to her you'd be just the same.