Deep cuts

Hey! Who is this? Why it’s me, MomZombie, circa 1978. I found this picture in an old, brittle photo album from my childhood. I cut my best pal a break and cropped her right out of this nightmare. She looked better than I did, but in both of our cases that isn’t saying much.
See my cool, David Cassidy inspired puka shell necklace? All the rage back then. I’m sure mine was a plastic knockoff since our family hadn’t recently traveled to Hawaii.
See my skinny bod? Where did that go? I think it’s been in hiding since my mid-20s when I discovered food. And beer. And wine. And chocolate. I didn’t eat much as a child. Don’t remember why.
See the shocking haircut? Freshly shorn for ninth grade, which was due to begin a day or two after this picture was taken. I think I rode my sparkly gold 10-speed up to the local salon and ordered a Dorothy Hamill, straight up. Just a few days earlier, I had hair past my shoulders. I think I wanted to look older.
Seems that the elderly man across the street wasn’t buying any of that nonsense. He thought I was a young man. He always shouted at me as I walked or rode by, “Hey, sonny. How about you cut my grass?”