The Do-Over

by Sharon M. Peterson

But last week, Jacque wasn’t available; Alisa was. Alisa had purple streaks in her hair and rolled her eyes when I explained how Jacque always cut my hair. “A bob like that hits you in the absolute wrong spot. You should totally grow it out.” “Really?” She narrowed her eyes and spun the chair I was sitting in, running her fingers through my hair. “Yes, and highlights would look awesome. They’d brighten up your face and make you look younger.” Wide-eyed, I stared at myself in the mirror. “I look old?” With a shrug, she pulled a hair color swatch book from a drawer. “Thirty-five isn’t old or anything. But you could look younger.” Thirty-five? But I wasn’t even thirty yet. I hadn’t found the love of my life. I still couldn’t use plastic wrap properly. I secretly liked to watch cartoons on Saturday mornings while eating a giant bowl of sugary cereal. I was not old. “Do it,” I’d said. “Do the highlights.”