On Saturday I got the worst haircut of my life.
Okay, maybe it doesn't beat that time in junior high, on picture day, when I decided to trim my bangs and I ended up scalping myself. But, IT COMES DAMN CLOSE.
My hairdresser and I have one firm rule: my hair must be able to be pulled into a ponytail. In the very least, piggy tails.
So when I told her to "lop it off" and "make it manageable," I most certainly didn't mean "make me look like William Sledd, BUT WITHOUT THE PRETTINESS."
But oh my hell, I can't do anything with it.
Me: Why can't I get a damn decent picture of myself? OH YEAH, RIGHT -- BAD HAIRCUT.
Aaron: It's not that bad.
Me: Yes, it is.
Aaron: No, it's not. Instead of being a ten, it's like a nine.
Me: You FORGOT TO ADD THE NEGATIVE.
Aaron: No really, it's not that much different.
Me: So, what your telling me is THAT MY HAIR ALWAYS LOOKS LIKE SHIT.
Griffin: Mommy, your hair is ugly now.
Darwin: I no like it Mommy! Put it back, put it back!
Oh my hell, it self feathers.
So, if anyone wonders? I'll be lying in bed listening to The Cure for the next six months while my hair grows out.