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.