Because of the aforementioned incident, I was nauseus all morning. It was like this sense of impending doom, only tinged with my characteristic moronic optimism. "What, I've hated EVERY SINGLE short hair cut I've ever had? There's a first time for everything!" My stylist's name was Sam - and he looked to be about 19 years old. He also has a girlfriend. So let me get this straight:
1. He was available in 2 days.
2. He probably isn't old enough to vote.
3. He's not gay.
Doesn't exactly sound like the kind of guy I'd trust to cut my hair. But whatever - too late now. (Fresh wave of nausea.)
Are you ready for some serious before and afters?
It was so, so long and thick. It had great potential to be luxurious. But 98% of the time I wore it like this:
Glamorous, huh? Can you spot the granuloma scar? No? Not in a picture that small? Good - that was the point.
Sometimes I would straighten it (By sometimes I mean like once a month). Even then, it was so heavy and shapeless that it flattened out on top and hung lifelessly, like so:
And so, I allowed a minor with a pair of shears to put it in a ponytail and cut the whole thing off!
It is really, really short.
The longest layer is more than 14 inches.
I lost three pounds today, in hair. As Sam was thinning my hair, he kept shaking his head and chuckling in amazement. He then likened me to Rapunzel from Tangled...
...Oh my gosh, maybe he's younger than 19.
Aaannd, let's do a baby shot while we're already here in front of the mirror: 30 weeks!
I highly recommend Sam; he did a great job. In fact, I scheduled a trim and highlights in 2 months because he was such a smooth talker.