I got a haircut yesterday. To explain to you how I feel, I'm going to use a quote from Simon of the "Mortal Instruments" trilogy:
"I don't like flat soda. I don't like crappy boy-band pop. I hate [my hair]. See the difference?"
I've regretted haircuts before, but never like this, never on the almost-eve of my sixteenth birthday. You know how my hair normally looks after I get it cut? I like it. I think it looks good. Well, I hate this. I hate it. Go read that quote again.
What the HECK was I thinking asking the haircut-lady to go shorter? If it ain't broke, don't freaking fix it, Kendra! Why-o-why!! I'm about to be sixteen, and I now look like I'm ten.
I really do.
Gosh, could this be any more exactly the opposite of what I want? I hate my hair. So much. I'm so upset >.<
It's completely my fault and everything, the lady did exactly what I asked her to. It's all my fault, and I look terrible.
*sob* Awwwwwwwwww >.<
Ellie, please call me next time I'm about to get a haircut and remind me not to go too short. We usually do that for each other, and I don't do it one time, and look at what happened? Goshhhhh.
Yeah, I know, it'll grow. It will. But not before Sunday. Not before I have pictures taken of my on my Sweet 16 looking like I should be in elementary school.
Ugh. I am seriously quite depressed about this.