NFR: Project Samson
… and my hair stylist’s name was Delilah. HA! Ok not really. Actually her name’s Corrine but she had no remorse cutting my hair.
Let me back up. It all started with a tweet.
Next thing I know my friend calls me and says “Are you busy?” Why? “I made you a hair appt for Sunday at 1 o’clock.” WHAT? “It will be fun. We can get our hair cut together.” Why? “I saw your tweet.” Damn twitter.
So… (3 hours later) I went from this…
… to this.
All I remember is squealing when she took the HUGE scissors and
cut HACKED off my ponytail. I think I even remember my friend laughing at me. Then again the memory is kinda fuzzy b/c I’m trying to block the trauma. (Melodramatic, much? Um. yes. I’m a girl. Duh?!)
It’s been almost a week and I’m still getting use to short hair. Everyone seems to like it. Me? I feel like a tard when I try to use a flat iron. Forget trying to use a hair dryer and round brush at the same time. How the heck do people do that? I’m just not ambidextrous. My left hand is useless. Sorry Lefty. The truth hurts.
But I don’t regret it. It’s kinda becoming a tradition for me. Every year I cut my hair and donate to Locks of Love <~ Click the link to learn more. It's really a great cause and I'm sure I'll do it again next year. What do I have to lose? Just my hair.