I did a bad thing.
What makes it worse is that I was warned not to do it by pretty much every woman I know. But I didn’t listen.
I got my hair cut at Cost Cutters.
Now, before someone karate chops me in the throat because you looooove Cost Cutters, you’ve totally been BFFs since third grade and they’ve never done you wrong, let me just say that I’ve gone there before and while I’ve never had hairgasms over their work I’ve always been satisfied that I wasn’t walking around looking like I’d stuck a bowl on my head and cut around the edges.
That all changed after my experience on Saturday.
We went up to Minnesota to help Zack’s grandmother move and to see our godson and to attend an engagement party. Our schedule was booked pretty solid but I insisted we squeak in 45 minutes for a damn haircut because it’d been about seven months and I was beginning to feel like this lady:
Only less high fashion and more tired-zombie-with-mega-split-end-troubles. I’d gone to Cost Cutters (the very same one, in fact) for my last haircut in July and was pretty happy with the result. I just got a trim and a few light layers. This time I decided I wanted to jazz things up a bit a do a trim and some slightly more noticeable layers. Which obviously means that I wanted the woman to break out the rusty kitchen shears and hack away at it by the handful, leaving me with something along these lines, but longer:
Oh yes, my friends. We are talking seriously asymmetrical chunks of hair all over my fucking head. AND I DIDN’T NOTICE IT. Well, I noticed that there was a large-ish piece in front that seemed more blunt than I wanted so I asked my mom to fix it because I just did not have time to go back to Cost Cutters. When I sat down to let her have a go she commented that the layers were pretty severe all over my head and “Austin, haven’t you looked at this? Have you seen the back?”
I’d tossed my hair into a pony tail all weekend to save time so I hadn’t yet noticed that that really choppy piece up front? Actually, that’s what MY ENTIRE HEAD looks like. I knew the only way I could show my face at work today would be if I was somehow able to improve the state of my hair first. My mom anxiously agreed to cut it (it was 9pm on a Sunday. I go to COST CUTTERS…like I have a beautician on speed dial! Don’t roll your eyes at me.) and we decided the only thing to be done was to even it all out. Which, by the way, this woman took “give me layers” to mean “take random chunks and cut them all about the same length. Oh, and please make it look as bad as possible.”
So now it’s all one length and my hair has gone from being longer than where my bra strap touches my back to brushing my shoulders. It took hard work and dedication and TRUCKLOADS of deep conditioner to grow that shit out and now I am back to square one.
And I am pissed.
Did I mention that I am going to Europe in five weeks and four days? Because that is totally happening. And in all my pictures I’m going to look like the triangle-head douchenozzle who tried to get a haircut on the cheap and ended up looking like a five-year-old attacked her with a pair of those plastic learning-to-cut scissors while she slept.