two bits TOO BAD.
There I am, in all my makeup-free, split-end glory. I'm very aware of the fact that I need to get it cut before we go to Japan next month, but I'm sort of stalling. For no good reason, in fact.
It's not that I don't want my hair cut. It's not that Mr. Wright wouldn't watch the babes while I got it cut. It's certainly not that it doesn't need to be cut, for crying out loud.
It's just... Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's the fact that no one does it just right. I have yet to find my stylist soulmate, and I always walk out of the salon, cringing.
Also? I don't know how I want it cut. That's a dangerous mental territory to be stranded in when you walk through the salon door, because someone will inevitably talk you into a cut that will cause you to walk out of the salon, cringing.
Plus? I want to do something different. Something a bit reckless and carefree. Something that says, I'm an individual, just like the 500 other trendy women in my county who have this cut! Something that doesn't require hot rollers, a curling iron, a blow dryer, hairspray, gel, mousse, pomade or spritz. Preferably something shower-optional, since sometimes I don't get a shower until afternoon nap time. You know, something I can sleep in and wake up looking glorious and ready to greet the Jehovah's Witnesses at the door! Something I can just fluff with my fingers and know I look HAWT. Hassle-free. Gorgeous and sophisticated.
Or maybe long, blonde waves... Can we make that out of the black, brittle, flat, limp, shoulder-length mop on my head? Could I please have Scarlett Johansson's hair transplanted onto my head?
Photo from xrayvision.today.com