A new haircut

This is me looking puzzled by the flatness that is my hair. And, as I look at this image, I now bear the same puzzled expression, because it seems physically impossible that those hands in the photo belong to me. They do, though. Nobody is lying on the floor in front of me, pointing up at my flat hair and saying, "Look at that flat hair!" I just have mutant hands, I guess.
I don't know why hairdressers always want to straighten my hair to within an inch of its life. I think they have a problem with the wavy/frizzy look that I'm normally sporting. Of course, I come home with my silky smooth salon tresses, and Clara says, "Oh, Mummy! You look so beautiful like that! You should always do your hair like that!", and I must break it to her that I would rather sleep for those last two hours than individually iron every strand of hair on my head.

So here's what the new haircut really looks like, after the usual amount of cheap shampoo, daily neglect, and getting caught in the rain (but, sadly, no piña coladas...).
I don't intensely dislike it, but it does remind me of a cut I had back in my early twenties, which was perfect for a woman in her early twenties. It also works well on many an eight-year-old. And Little Lord Fauntleroy.