As a treat to myself before heading on holidays, I'd decided months back that I'd get myself a professional haircut. Usually I have The Husband cut my hair, or, when possible, Mars has a go at it in her basement with a pair of rusty shears - both do a top notch job. But this time I thought I'd indulge in a little girliness and actually pay some
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Shut up.
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It's hair, I'll tough it out. I'm just being a whiny baby about it, because it was a whole bunch of shite all at once, and I sometimes feel that people don't *listen* to me - hence social anxieties.
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