The other day I went to get my hairs cut and drove along this very same road, which looks different now from the then.
Anyway, I get fewer haircuts per year than any other woman I know. Not only that, if I can manage it, I'll press MK or my sister into cutting my hair, just so that I get it done for free, regardless of what it looks like once they've had a go at it. And despite all of this, my mother still insists that I'm picky about my hair. The only time I ever gave a crap about my hair was the time I shaved my head back in '87. All of the sudden I cared about hair. Having no hair can do that to you. I hate irony.
So, imagine my shock when I wiped the shower steam off the mirror this morning and finally noticed that the stylist gave me a bad haircut. Yes, it took me two days to notice. I've got hair wings flying out at my ears. The stylist is one of my sisters-in-law, and I should've suspected that she'd be distracted while cutting my hair because when I got to her hair lair my sister was there and so was Angela, both hepped up on coffee, chattering nonstop, everyone trying to one-up each other on rotten kid stories. I kept quiet because my kids aren't rotten. I was a rotten kid, but everybody already knows that. And now I've got this freaky 'do perched on my head like a bird. A frightened bird with its wings flapping. I'm going to have to put product in it, or see if MK can fix it. I might try to fix it, but all I have here are kitchen shears. Eh, that'll work.
Anyone have a really horrible haircut story?
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