Getting it out of my System

Dear Family,
I would like to tell you a hair story. My own was beginning to feel draggy. That's not a word, my spell check tells me, but there's no other for it, so I must improvise. Constantly ratty, and constantly in the way. I've wanted to layer it for some time anyway, so (being the improvising penny pincher that I am) I went online to find 'self-cutting' directions. I found what I was looking for, and a few minutes later found me standing in front of the mirror with a pair of scissors in hand, and a pile of hair at foot. I botched it. I really, really botched it. For a few seconds I stood there looking at the mess, then philosophically shrugged my shoulders, "At least I've gotten it out of my system now." Of course, inside I wasn't nearly so composed. I threw my hair back, hopefully to conceal the disconcerting truth, and determined to have a hair dresser fix it as soon as might possibly be.
Yesterday, two days later, Pyongae came down to the teachers' office. "Ruth!" I addressed her by her English name, "Do you know where I can get my hair cut?" She did, and ten minutes later found me sitting in a chair, with the hairdresser's little face laughing above my own in the mirror. I was thoroughly embarrassed, but maintained facadal (that's not a word, either) composure. Ruth asked what I wanted done with it. "It doesn't matter." I replied, "She can do whatever she wants. Leave it as long as possible, but other than that..." I shrugged. The hairdresser trimmed and snipped and combed away. It took a little while, but she did an amazing job, managing (I'm not sure how) to obtain the look I had been going for all along. And my hair isn't very much shorter for all that. Thus the uncourageous sinking feeling that had been tickling my thoughts for the last two days lifted. The others all like it, too, so I'm no worse off for the wear. I'll send a picture of the 'new me' whenever I get around to doing so.
Lots of laughs,
Elisabeth