I had just been in the bathroom at work, contemplating which pieces of hair to cut when I got home because I (stupidly) do not have scissors at work. I had cut my hair a week or so ago. Just the bottom. Because it was getting annoying and it’s such an easy fix, right? And then I had to call Aaron into the bathroom to fix the bottom and maybe shave my neck a bit to make it look more even.
It’s such a pain to try and make a hair appointment and I’m sure my new hair dresser was talking out her ass when she said she knew how to cut curly hair.
I got back to my desk and my sister had just sent me a link to a hilarious post about cutting your own hair. And cutting the hair of those you love. So frickin’ funny. Wait until you see her dog. Hee hee hee.
The texture of my hair has completely changed since having Sophie. I knew my hair was going to fall out in clumps. Totally prepared for that. My sister had told me horror stories. What I was not prepared for was that it was going to turn into frizzy straw. Add to that a bad haircut complete with her using the thinning razor scissors (before I could stop her and then it was too late). Those stupid thinning scissors should be banned. They are like kryptonite for curly hair. And after you’ve used them, your hair is never going to grow out well.
My hair is a freakin’ mess. I get to the end of the day at work and go to the bathroom and then recoil in horror at the thought that I’ve been walking around like this all day. I try to gel it into place and then pin it with bobbypins but all that is just to make me feel like I’m trying something. Anything.
I want my curls back. I want lovely waves that circle my face and caress me lovingly.
I have a hair appointment next weekend. With someone new. Who says she knows how to cut curly hair.
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