Housewife commitment part 3 – christmas surprise

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After almost a month of living with my new haircut, I had grown accustomed to my makeover. I noticed that I was adopting some of my boyfriend’s habits, particularly his insistence on meticulously ironed blouses and shirts, especially the time-consuming task of ironing ruffled blouses. He also paid great attention to the fit of my blouses in everyday life, emphasizing the importance of a well-sitting collar and neatly tucked blouses into skirt waistbands. As I focused on these details, I realized that 80% of society didn’t prioritize proper clothing. Observing consciously, I noticed most people went out in public with wrinkled attire.

I used to care little about my clothing, rarely bothering to iron. Now, it had become crucial for me to be well-dressed.

As my hair grew, touching the ruffled collar of my household uniform, it became uncomfortable during chores. With my hair just long enough, I tied it into a ponytail for work. Admittedly, it didn’t look very ladylike with my smooth-shaved undercut, but it was practical and felt better. When my boyfriend noticed, he was upset and warned of consequences. I feared another trip to the hairdresser, but it didn’t happen.

One day, I was tasked with buying new household items such as dishes, cutlery, and glasses. He had specific preferences for expensive brand-name products, with precise details on my shopping list. The task took time due to the detailed measurements, requiring visits to multiple stores. Surprisingly, I enjoyed the process and ultimately managed to procure everything.

At the end of the week, I had my weekly obligatory shaving appointment for my undercut. My boyfriend took it seriously, meticulously shaving my nape every Friday after work. This time, the weekly plan indicated two and a half hours instead of the usual half-hour, which made me uneasy.

He began with the usual undercut shave, sharing details of his workday. Then came something new. He insisted my blonde roots didn’t match my black hair, suggesting we dye them. Despite never having dyed my hair at home, he seemed experienced with the coloring process. After letting the color set, I had to thoroughly rinse my hair with water. He then asked me to return with wet hair. He styled and combed my hair into place, impressively separating the part and managing my hair whorls. I couldn’t recall him ever combing my hair before. 

He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with our new glass bowl set. I couldn’t anticipate his next move until he placed a bowl on my head and pulled out scissors from his pocket. He intended to give me a blunt bowl cut in this abrupt manner. Instinctively, fear set in, and I started crying, pleading with him not to proceed. He repeatedly asked me to stop crying, stating he couldn’t continue otherwise.

I couldn’t pull myself together and continued crying as I looked into the mirror through a glass bowl. It was hard to gauge, but I felt my hair might have been the length it had after the hairdresser, possibly a bit shorter and straighter. I pleaded with tears, explaining that I would even cut my hair a bit more if I could only do it at the salon. I couldn’t fathom that, aside from the length, his salad bowl concept could result in a reasonably decent haircut. After about 10 minutes, he removed the bowl without cutting my hair, and I stopped crying. He explained that he wanted me to connect with my hair, and that couldn’t happen if I kept crying. He asked me to trust him and let go a bit; after all, hair grows back. When he tried placing the bowl on me again, I instinctively moved, causing the expensive glass bowl to fall. He remained calm, and we cleaned up the shards together. I had to sit again, and he explained that I had two more chances. He would now take the next smaller bowl, and if I cried again, he’d use the smallest one that fit my head. Feeling helpless, I started crying once more. Without hesitation, he placed the smallest bowl he could find on my head. I pleaded with him again, involuntarily asking him to cut my hair with the medium-sized bowl. With the smallest one, I would have looked like a freak. With the medium glass bowl on my head, I could somewhat calm down and suppress my tears. As far as I can remember, he managed to make me smile briefly. Seizing the moment, he quickly cut off all the hair that protruded over the bowl with his scissors—about 8-10 cm of hair fell to the floor. When I looked in the mirror, I was shocked. I had an ultra-short, obviously unprofessionally cut bowl cut. It was very short, and by my assessment, still uneven. Unable to bear it, I went to my room and locked myself in. I had reached a point where I didn’t want to go out in public like this. His excessive dominance had ruined my hair. My head looked like an ugly, disheveled mushroom.

In the following days, he tried to apologize several times, but I was emotionally shattered. I mechanically went through my household chores and then sank into a mild depression. I ordered essential groceries online because I didn’t want to leave the house in this state. I also felt like he didn’t like my haircut. After my initial drastic hair change, a new magical sexual attraction had emerged between us. This time, I couldn’t sense it at all. On the contrary, he was very distant and didn’t understand why I didn’t want to leave the house. Because I was constantly at home, he extended my household responsibilities, which felt like another form of “punishment” to me.

After two weeks, just before Christmas, I felt compelled to change something in the situation and went to a reputable hairdresser in our district without his permission. Since my hair was already ruined, I didn’t want to risk anything more. I didn’t want a hairdresser who would cut more; I simply wanted someone to shape my hair a bit. The hairdresser I chose also advertised products that accelerate hair growth. The studio itself seemed very expensive and beautiful. On the way to the hairdresser, I hid my hair under a hood. When I had to remove the hood at the entrance, I became nervous. In the hair salon, there were consistently wealthier and well-dressed women who placed a high value on their appearance. However, I was greeted extremely warmly, and my stylist gave me plenty of space to express myself. Since I couldn’t tell the real story, I said I had tried to cut my hair at home and was now extremely unhappy. She explained that she often had clients who came in for repairs after attempting to cut their own hair, and she could find a solution for any problem.

After the conversation, she examined my hair more closely and said I had made it twice as difficult for her. On one hand, the hair was unevenly frayed, and on the other hand, there was the completely smooth undercut. Without discussing further details, she asked me to the washing area and gave me the best head massage of my life. When I returned to the chair, we discussed the details. Before she could say anything, I had tears in my eyes and asked her not to cut my hair any shorter. She reassured me and explained the options she saw to save my damaged hair. Firstly, she suggested restoring my hair to its original blonde color. The black hair would make it look too severe, especially with short hair, which wouldn’t appear feminine. The color suggestion immediately caught my attention because I had been thinking about it for a long time. The black color was chosen by my boyfriend; I would never have dyed my hair black.

Regarding the haircut, she presented two options. The first option, without changing the length, was to perm the hair. Due to the curls, the uneven cut wouldn’t be as noticeable, and I wouldn’t have to cut more hair. Unfortunately, coloring and perming couldn’t be done simultaneously. The second option, which she also recommended, was to cut the hair into a modern pixie cut. She showed me pictures of famous women with pixie cuts who looked decidedly feminine. She explained that a pixie cut would look much better than my current hairstyle, and with the pixie cut, I could simultaneously dye my hair blonde. She mentioned that the hair would be damaged at the tips when transitioning from black to blonde, and she would have to trim it.

Now, I faced the decision just before Christmas: to be a black curly head or a blonde pixie head. Neither was what I had hoped for.

In my desperation, I told the hairdresser I couldn’t decide, and she could decide for me. She grinned and said, “Let’s go for hair coloring, then.”

While the color was setting in my hair, a pleasantly amusing conversation developed between the stylist and me. For a moment, it felt like we had been friends for a long time. The feeling quickly ended when she took her scissors in hand after rinsing out the color.

I closed my eyes and endured the ordeal.

When she finished, I couldn’t believe my eyes—I had a short pixie cut. Somehow, they managed to showcase me in that moment, and I briefly felt like one of the models from the hairstyle catalog. Nevertheless, I was once again saddened by how short my hair was.

Right after the salon appointment, I had a meeting with my mom to shop for Christmas presents at the mall. She hadn’t seen me since my bowl cut and was excited to reunite after weeks.

When I encountered my mom, she took a moment and said, “Oh, now I have a little boy and no daughter anymore,” and laughed. And that’s exactly how I felt—with my white button-down blouse and boyish haircut, I had lost my femininity.

2 responses to “Housewife commitment part 3 – christmas surprise

  1. I read the three stories as if they were one!
    Do she change herhair color and dye it without asking permission?
    The punishment must be very harsh: shaved clean, eyebrows included; and a review of the ass with the straps so as not to make her sit for a week

  2. Like I said in a comment on another recent story right now, the inner turmoil of a bowl cut I like. I will hold up that (in stories as well as real life) it is ‘easier’ to shave one’s head or have a full buzzcut than a bowl cut potentially with what you may experience from people afterwards.
    I like it when stories do not take that ‘shortcut’ necessarily, often going to the full shave/ buzzcut after a very short period of a bowl cut (while I know this is not applicable here of course). I know the majority of authors and probably readers like that final outcome, yet may I suggest to hold out?
    For the story at hand, ohoh. Someone is in trouble… there must be a reason he did the bowl cut, might be a childhood thing that stuck, so all roads lead to Rome (ehm, a bowl cut) eventually?
    Thank you for writing, thank you for sharing!

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