Humor

What the Fuck was I Thinking?

I should not have touched my bangs at all. I had just got a haircut two or three weeks ago but the hairstylist decided that my bangs didn’t need to be cut. That’s ridiculous because prior to going to her I hadn’t had my haircut in over 10 weeks. I have difficulty asking for the things that I want. I agreed that they didn’t need to be cut. Now here we are with my bangs past my nose. Or at least that’s where they were. 


I’m sure most of you hang on my every word, right? But for those that don’t, I will reiterate the fact that I recently quit my regular hairdresser of almost two years (the one I went to a few weeks ago was a potential replacement that didn’t work out.) I also let my husband bleach my hair. (He actually likes to. He used to color my hair and he decided he was ready to try bleaching.) After five processes, that’s two bleachings and three tonings, we finally achieved blonde. It’s not perfect by any means but it’s actually a lot better than what my professional stylist of two years did. Nevermind. I won’t  go into that again. 


Anyway, feeling fortunate to get out of that experience with all my hair still in tact, I felt a little weird about cutting my own bangs. I have cut them before, even prior to my amazing YouTube training, but I was scared to mess with my hair anymore. I also didn’t feel like going to a salon just to get my bangs cut. So my solution to this dilemma? I decided to cut my bangs but not actually as short as I wanted them. 


Wtf? Why would I do that? How does that make any sense? I should have left them alone or cut them to the length that they I wanted them to be. This is one situation where compromise helped no one. 

Before, my bangs were too long but at least they were so long that they lay flat to either side of my head. I have managed to cut them just short enough that they are still too long and now they hit the edge of my glasses and flip out like an insane person’s bangs. (Point taken) I realized my mistake immediately and then again this morning where, after a weekend of not really caring, I had to try and get dressed and look presentable. Now my lovely blonde hair is wasted on the fact that my bangs are fubar. 

Look:


I also got new glasses. They are currently fucking up my bangs. You might have seen them in the picture. So here I am. New week. New me. My hair is bleached. My glasses are new. Instead of basking in the compliments of my coworkers, I am hiding in my office, hoping that no one sees me because I fucked up both new things with one foul swoop of my trusty scissors. I don’t even know what I was thinking. Why didn’t I just cut them the rest of the way? I knew they were too long. 


I guess I will try to cut them again tonight. (My husband only does color.)I still really don’t want to go to a salon. I’m afraid they will, with their trained eye, see that my hair color actually is bad thereby shattering my illusion that it looks great. Oh woe is me. Why can’t I leave well enough alone? Keep me in your thoughts, people, please. I’m going back under the scissors tonight. Hopefully tomorrow’s post won’t be, “Why’d I Cut My Bangs so Short”.

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