cut once, measure not at all 

One day Lorelei came up to me with her hands pressed to her forehead.  I thought maybe she had hurt herself, but as she stood there I started seeing pieces of hair falling out of her hands.

She saw my face and immediately started sobbing. When I finally got her to explain why she cut her hair she cried, “some pieces were in my face when I leaned over my desk. They kept falling in my face so I cut them off.”

That seemed pretty legit to me.

I was reminded of that this morning when, in desperate “need” of black boot cuffs that I didn’t have, I cut the sleeves off of a shirt in my donation pile and wore them on my legs.

Problem solving and scissors – a dangerous but winning combination.

 

Severed arm
IMG_1896
Voila!
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