My co-worker… an incredibly sweet, naive, little thing.
You may remember her from past posts. She is the one who hums tunelessly all day. Just the one tone “hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.” Drives us all crazy, but little is to be done but to try to drown her out with one’s own mantra: “Don’t yell at her, she’ll cry… Don’t yell at her, she’ll cry…”
Or, you may perhaps remember her for her odd habit of wearing a wedding dress to work on occasion (but not since Labor Day as it would be gauche to wear white.)
Today, I was walking past her desk in our open-concept office. And a little voice in my head said “She looks like she’s five years old.” I paused en route to the office supply cabinet. “That was odd,” I thought to myself, “where ever did I get such a notion?”
So I turned to look at her more closely, so I could determine to what exactly my little voice was rerferring. Again the little voice in my head said “She looks like she’s five years old.”
I looked at her clothing. Turquoise high-heels, red leather pants, fluffy, black, faux-fur sweater. Nope nothing there that would suggest “five-year-old.” I looked more closely, then asked:
“FreakLady,” (not her real name) “did you change your hair?”
“Yes,” she said, beaming with pride, “I cut my hair!”
Now, discerning Dopers will have taken note of her choice of words. She did not say “I got a haircut.” No. She did not say that. She said: “I cut my hair.”
There are some people who can grab a pair of scissors and tame the stray cowlicks and subdue the unwieldy locks. Some are talented do-it-yourself clippers who can flip their hair back, take scissors to it, and achieve results worthy of the finest salons – FreakLady is not one of those people.
She reminds me of the Judy Blume character “Fudge” who cut is hair and put it in the turtle bowl in Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing.
She does indeed look like a five-year-old who was left unsupervised with the arts-and-crafts supplies.
I think it’s the bangs.