Gamma got a haircut last week. She used to have long hair, way down her back. It started going a little feral while we were in the United States visiting the family. A combination, I think, of the slimy well water at my folks house and the salt water, sand and wind of our visit to the Oregon coast.

She started getting these tangles. And she apparently has plenty of nerve-endings in her scalp, because she really yelled when we tried to brush her hair. We tried holding on between the roots and where we were brushing, and conditioners, etc.

She eventually had this Feral Boy from Mad Max look going. Big mats of tangled hair in back, underneath. It was a choice of going for dreadlocks, or a trim. So they ran her in to the hair place and cut it off.

The hair stylist gave them the usual, “if I find any bruises I’m calling CPS”-look.

We’re all far happier with the page-boy cut. Everyone tells Gamma she looks so much older with the new style, which of course pleases her. She even seems to be making an effort to act older – getting dressed by herself more readily, going to bed easier at night, picking up after herself after being told only ten times, not fifty.

And she no longer squeals when we brush it. It’s great.