Yesterday I couldn't take it anymore, I had to get my hair cut. Right then. No waiting to ask women at work who they recommended, no calling my stylist in Austin and begging her to fit me in on the 24th or 26th of December (as if she would). I put my vanity into the hands of a stranger.
I should have known it wouldn't turn out well when I saw that the woman who was going to cut my hair was the thinnest person I have ever seen. She looked like those kids you see in the "feed the children" ads they run at 2am, only white, blonde and without the distended belly. Skeletal. And, I am pretty sure that the weight of the scissors made her arms quiver.
It's not so bad, it could be so much worse. Trust me, there has been worse (you will never see my passport photo). This hair cut is supposed to be a smooth stacked bob (you know, the one everyone got after Posh spice had it? well I had it first...off and on since 1991 thank you very much) but the back looks a bit like it was attacked with a weed whacker. At least I don't have to look at the back of my head. Pity the people that do.