Many readers will know that I have long hair. Well - for the last little while, it's been getting too long - almost-to-my-waist-getting-caught-in-my-armpits-ideal-nesting-place-for-Rocky too long. It was definitely time to get it cut. But since I never do anything by half measures, I was planning on getting it bobbed - a nice little sculpted bob with bangs. Kind of a softer Cleopatra look.
I even took a photo of what I wanted to the salon.
Now I should have been concerned when the hairdresser said that I had some natural curl in my hair. I have never had natural curl. My hair will barely hold a fake curl.
I should have been really concerned when she started putting a whole bunch of layers in the back.
I should have been really, REALLY concerned when she said she needed to add some texture.
What I ended up with was some sort of weird boycut-bob hybrid. Kinda like Justin Bieber meets Dorothy Hamill, and all bad.
I thought maybe it would look better when I washed out all the product she put in it.
Then I thought it might look better if I gelled it back.
Then I thought it might look better in the morning.
When I woke up looking like my Dad in 1984, with it all winging out at the side - I knew I needed to do something drastic.
So I got in the car and drove to the city (because nothing is open in this small town on a Sunday.)...