“I hate hair.”
This was the answer she gave again and again to the question that was asked all too often. The baited question, why did you really cut your hair so short?
If cutting her hair was to make a statement, she would have made the statement when she cut her hair. If it was to make an announcement, she would have made the announcement already, perhaps in association with her short hair. She really did hate hair, and that was all there was to her decision.
The baited question.
Always asked in secret. Where no one else would hear. Quietly, hoping that the secluded nature would bring out the truth. Digging to get to the bottom of whatever it was. No one else is here, you can tell me.
The coaxing and comforting of those with ulterior motives, trying to shine their light into what they secretly hoped was a dark corner. Something they hoped would allow them to be the hero of their own fantasy. The masturbatory need to discover something hidden and dirty, then clean it for all to see.
No one will know.