We had another argument today.
It was long overdue.
I had wondered, musingly, if she would be willing to cut her hair short. Not just a bob; I indicated it would have to be quite, quite short. She said yeah, if I would shave my head. I agreed.
Brooding mounted until it emerged into anger. She feels like I don't even like her hair. Really, it's beautiful. Long, bleached blonde, meticulously styled. Her hair gets her some considerable attention, not just mine. But I have suggested a few times at the salon that she try a different length, so apparently that means that I hate it the way it is.
Most of the day is gone, and she's still sore with me. I wish she could see that I value her infinitely. I know every centimeter of her, and I love every one. It's only difficult for her to understand the dissonance our situation causes with my belief system.
I don't want to encourage people to make a point, just a choice. Who are you really? Who decided that you would wear your hair, your dress, your face like that? Long tresses of hair are beautiful, true, and alluring as well. But the hair, the skirt, the makeup - it's a mark on you that you accept because everyone wants you to. They love you, they appreciate you. I appreciate you.
I was just trying to say: What if?