Post of Horror and Terror. Possibly also Misery.
My friend took me to her hairdresser. He's fantastic she said. You'll really like him. Yeah.
It'll be nice to have a girls' day out she said. At that point I had to say yes because we'd had a fight the day before and I felt bad.
Let me contextualise. My hair is long. And I do mean long. We're talking old school, long enough to sit on. Or we were. It was.
It's now two inches past my shoulders.
I fail to see how in any language on earth my instruction to 'take a couple of inches off the bottom' can have resulted in this.
It would probably be crass to say I feel violated, except I kind of do.
And then he patronised me by saying I look really pretty now.
Whatever.
I'm afraid to face my grandmother for Easter dinner, and every time I reach over my shoulder there's nothing there. I'm so disoriented it's not funny.
And there's absolutely nothing I can do about it.
It'll be nice to have a girls' day out she said. At that point I had to say yes because we'd had a fight the day before and I felt bad.
Let me contextualise. My hair is long. And I do mean long. We're talking old school, long enough to sit on. Or we were. It was.
It's now two inches past my shoulders.
I fail to see how in any language on earth my instruction to 'take a couple of inches off the bottom' can have resulted in this.
It would probably be crass to say I feel violated, except I kind of do.
And then he patronised me by saying I look really pretty now.
Whatever.
I'm afraid to face my grandmother for Easter dinner, and every time I reach over my shoulder there's nothing there. I'm so disoriented it's not funny.
And there's absolutely nothing I can do about it.