"Mum ?"
I call out from my bedroom. She opens the door and comes in and stands there and says,
"Yes ?"
"Can do something with my hair ?"
I see her eyes light up in excitement. She loves it when I want to go shopping or something like that.
"Oh darling that's a wonderful idea ! I have and idea ! Why don't you dye it ?"
Dyed sounds great so I nod my head and smile.
:.time skip.:
We get to the hairdressers and I sit down in one of the weird spinny chairs and the hairdresser asks me,
"So, what do want done sweetie ?"
"Can I have it really short ? Like boy short and have it dyed blonde?"
My mum scoffs and stops the hairdresser.
"No, no she's going through some weird phase, curl it perhaps and get rid of the split ends and yes, dye it blonde,"
It's so unfair. I hate my hair. I hate my mum. I don't want this girly life. I hate when mum says she. I'm a boy. I'm Harry not Harriet.
