(no subject)
I went for one of my every-eight-months-or-so haircuts and was in something of a Mood, so I let Ben, my hairdresser, go to town with as many layers as the heart under those amazingly developed pectorals could desire.
Ben got all artistical about it, and respected my request to keep it mostly long, because I'm a long-hair girl. When he finished with the cut and blow dry, broke out the curling iron, and curled and pinned and fussed, and told me repeatedly how gorgeous I am (there's a reason that I go back to Ben--he's very good at making me feel great about my appearance), and sent me off looking like I needed a fringed leather jacket and a guitar.
Photo courtesy
sabotabby, self confidence courtesy
sabotabbyand
human_loser.
Ben got all artistical about it, and respected my request to keep it mostly long, because I'm a long-hair girl. When he finished with the cut and blow dry, broke out the curling iron, and curled and pinned and fussed, and told me repeatedly how gorgeous I am (there's a reason that I go back to Ben--he's very good at making me feel great about my appearance), and sent me off looking like I needed a fringed leather jacket and a guitar.
Photo courtesy
sabotabby, self confidence courtesy
sabotabbyand
human_loser.