It's been an hour

we get back from the airport, get out of the car.

"Did you cut your hair?" my mom asks, inquisitively.

"I did."

"It looked better long."

It's taken me a month to get used to and accept this haircut.


About twenty minutes later, over tea:

"I just think there's too much hair in your face."

"I don't want to talk about it."

About twenty minutes after that, I catch her looking at me with a confused expression. I pre-empt her comment:
"Could you please lay off my haircut?"

"I just think this look doesn't work for you."

"I don't want to hear about it."

This has worked so far. I'll let you know how many times it comes up throughout the weekend.