Anyhoo, last week I took the plunge and dropped in to a "quickie" salon for a trim. That, by the way is a key word: TRIM. I think you sense where this is headed.
The hairdresser (who appeared to be fresh out of 6th grade) proceeded to then lop off the majority of my long, luxurious tresses. (Hey, it's MY story -- roll with it)!! In her little cosmetology world, the word "TRIM" must translate to "LOCKS OF LOVE".
The aftermath includes relentless choruses of: "YOU GOT ALL YOUR HAIR CHOPPED OFF"! I tell them that wasn't my intent, and then go on to assure them I am NOT undergoing chemotherapy. My self-appointed personal stylist, Coco at SuperCuts, took it upon herself to make that fashion choice for me. She who holds the scissors is the one in control, folks. Apparently, with my dainty, pixie like facial features, she was convinced I could carry the Mia Farrow look.
The bright side is ..... I won't be needing another cut until, say, 2011. At that point, I'll head to that swanky, renowned salon of Great Clips. After all, they're cutting edge. Ba dum bum!