Please don't laugh at me.
Well, it's okay if you do laugh. I guess I would too if I were you.
I don’t know about you, but sometimes there are these moments where I feel like I’m a really smart person.
But then there not so smart moments. These happen a lot. Like when I ordered the Pumpkin Pie Blizzard once (no no no no no) or when I tried to manhandle 4’x4’ sheets of plywood up the ladder into the attic during a heat advisory when home alone. But most importantly, like when I decide to cut my hair. No, I don’t dare do it myself; I always pay someone else $50 to botch my lovely locks.
I think that I’ll blame this life-long plague on the Wig of Doom. It was 1995 and I had found a bag of wigs at my grandmother’s house. I took them home and my friends and I played with them. Luckily for you, my mother saw the opportunity for future embarrassment and seized her Kodak in order to document this event.
|Where are my eyes? Oh wait, my chubby cheeks are trying to take over my face.|
I think it cursed me. Shortly thereafter, I sported the Christmas tree ‘do with half-moon bangs for a while. Those bangs curved WAY out, but I guess they helped protect my personal space. You'd loose an eye if you came too close.
|Nice triangle, huh?|
Then came my favorite: The Carol Brady. I cried after I got this haircut. I think I started high school with this do. "/ It took a while to grow out.
|It was usually more pronounced than that, but this is the only picture I could find. Intentional picture misplacement? Perhaps...|
More recently, I decided to hop onboard with the trend of bangs. I told the gal I wanted chunky bangs. I even carried THREE pictures in hopes of eliminating any question of what exactly it was that I wanted.
What did I get? Half-moon bangs. Again? Where’s that wig….
So then I tried to fix them – I thought maybe making them thicker and shorter would make it better.
Need a picture? Please reference picture #2. For reals.
Am I the only one with a history of bad haircuts? Please tell me that I’m not.