"Hair" she is!

Who ever heard of jonquils (some of you might call them daffydils) blooming in February? But alas, spring has arrived and I, your beloved Miss Lily, must leave her boudoir to confess her crime. Namely, I have CUT MY HAIR.

Lawd, my mama is probably twistin' like a tornado in her grave at the news that her sweet child is trottin' out in public like some diseased Jezebel, shorn like a lamb to the slaughter. But honestly, good and faithful friends, I couldn't stand it another moment. Do you know how many HOURS it takes for these locks to dry? Can you imagine how HEAVY this hunk of hair is on my head? And let's not forget that I am single-handedly keeping those makers of hair pins in business.

Well, no more. And no, I haven't been ill or struck down with a high fever that prompting the shearing of this sheep. Most doctors, as you know, believe that long hair sucks the health out of a body - silly men! Although Mama, with her "waste not-want not" philosophy, would appreciate that I received a good price for my coiffure at the wig-maker, it is rather odd to see my curls sitting atop Old Lady Carruther's head, who everyone knows is bald as a coot beneath her bonnet. Wise old besom that she is, she even complimented my new headgear - I bought the most perky little confection of a hat from the proceeds of the sale - and never once accused me of bobbing my hair like some kind of misguided Confederate sympathizer. Yes, it's true! I hear that there are some Southern belles who cut their hair as a show of patriotism during the War. Although, if you ask me, I think women of the South are a mite too practical for that. But if that's what folks want to believe, well, who am I to begrudge 'em? All I know is that THIS Southern belle cut her curls because she was bone-tired of constantly brushing it.