Originally, shaving my head for childhood cancer awareness and convincing my partner in crime to do the same was mostly a lark. As friday draws closer, questions I never thought I’d have to legitimately ponder are making me pause. “are you going to miss your hair?” A woman is supposed to be smooth, hairless, and soft. Everything neatly irradicated. Eyebrows sculpted, legs perfect. the only exception is a flawless, maintained head of hair. Let’s not mince words. That’s not me. I’m kind of a slob. I brush my hair if I need to dye it. I cut it myself, sometimes on front porches with friends, sometimes in the office washroom on a bad day. My hair has been it’s natural brown. It’s been black. Auburn. Neon red. Purple. Orange. Yellow. Blue. Periwinkle. Magenta. And finally, it’s current bubblegum pink. I’ve already subverted most people’s opinions of me, with my slow transformation into not-your-average-anything. I’m honored to get the chance to continue doing exactly that, but for an amazing cause. Stares and commentary on my sexuality and assumptions about my character are all things I have no problem dealing with. Say your worst, passers by. It’s not chemotherapy and needles and that hospital smell for months. Your smirks or shakes of the head aren’t not knowing if your child is going to make it to see their next birthday. So no, I won’t miss my hair. I have way more than that.