I am afraid my beloved stepson won't know me when I get to Costa Rica.

I had a haircut today and since my hairdresser only spoke Portuguese and my vocabulary contains about 300 words, and most of them I pronounce horribly wrong, my hair is at least 2 inches shorter than I had in mind. And I look at least 10 years younger. And I look like a boy. Like a chubby choirboy. I look like Neville Longbottom, or the boy on the jacket of Angela's Ashes, only with shorter hair and breasts. My god. But I'm sure it will be OK by the time I get married. Actually my hair will most likely reach my knees by the time I get married. If I stop flirting with hairdressers in Latin America.