Braids

I have always wanted to know how to French braid.  But it looked hard, and I have a lot of hair, and after about half an hour, annoyed with how tangled my hair got and how tired my arms were balanced over my head, I gave up, just pulling it into its normal bun or braiding it normally.  But French braiding seemed to have the best of both worlds - like a braid, it kept the ends from getting tangled, and like a bun, it kept it up off my face.
So today I started figuring it out.  It's not proper French braiding - just two little ones on the sides of my head and then I pulled the rest into a bun and got lazy - but it's a start.
Sometimes little things just make you happy, you know?

Haircut

Yesterday I handed my mother a comb and the scissors and asked her to cut four inches off the end of my hair.  That's not much hair for me - just the very unhealthy ends of about two feet of thick curls.  When it dried, my hair flew up into curls below my shoulders, so now it reaches the top of the small of my back when it's dry and my hips when it's wet.  It's not a very big change - just curlier and lighter and healthier now, and that's the way I like it.

I was partially inspired to cut my hair by Kuzu, who cut her already-short hair into an incredibly chic face-framing pixie-ish haircut (with bangs!  Super-cute bangs!), but I'm not as brave as she is... maybe one day.  It's weird to think that before I gave my mother scissors I hadn't gotten my hair cut for about three years... and it wasn't really cut as much as trimmed a bit.

Good morning, US people!

Hair and Nationality

This is a conversation that I had with a guy from the British Isles today in a cafe:

Guy: "Where are you from?"
Me: "Boston"
Guy: "Boston, America?"
Me: "Yes."
Guy: "No, you're not.  You can't be American."
Me: "Oh?"
Guy: "Americans don't have hair that colour."
Me: "Have you been to America?"
Guy: "Yes."
Me: "And you didn't see anyone with hair this colour?"
Guy: "No, I didn't!  Where are you from, really?  Scotland?"
Me: "No.  I'm from Boston."
Guy: (turns to his friend) "You're American - does she look American?"
Friend: "No."
Guy: "See?  He's American.  You can't be American."
Me: "But I am."

He bought me coffee afterwards, presumably to make up for the scene he caused regarding my nationality in a tiny cafe while I was trying to read.... so far, today has been odd.