I accidentally gave myself bangs, after being proud of the valiant progress I had made in growing them out too. For three seconds in disbelief, I stared into the mirror, abrasively accepting the fact, before I let myself laugh it out.
"What did you do--?" my sister enters, staring blankly, quite aghast.
"I could almost cry," Mom moans, "Don't you have to go to work? It's 3:40."
"Yeah, but I need to fix this." I lean against the counter into the mirror, scissors clicking and stumps of wet hair collecting around the sink.
"Moriah, you're just going to make it worse," my sister interjects.
"Not until I fix this--"
I made it worse.
"It sort of looks like Lady Gaga" or "the Beatles..." or "a small mammal" were compliments I received last evening.
While at the salon this morning, my hairdresser and I laughed, as she agreed that the back of my head did look like a football or a possum.
Consequently, the hair I was trying to grow out {in fact, I was pulling at it everyday, so that it would grow faster} is as short as ever. Back to a bob just below my ears. I'm not laughing anymore, I don't like my haircut one bit: I feel like a floppy eared Cocker Spaniel.
But the thing is, it's hair. Just hair. It'll grow back and when it does, I'll probably end up chopping it off again "accidentally".
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