...also known as my bangs.
I have always loved wearing bangs. Then I hate them. I grow them out, then I cut them again, convincing myself I look younger and that it saves me on botox.
The issue is when my wonderful hair guru cuts my bangs they are perfect. Smooth, rounded, Zooey Deschanel bangs. Lightly brushing my eyelashes, making me feel like a a sweet little doe eyed girl.
Then three mornings later...I wake up with my bangs intertwined with my lashes. I can't see a thing. They start to curl and wave and look less Zooey and more like a this girl. Then the following ensues:
Dear Criminals,
I thought we had a deal. When your human is in a manic mood and is taking scissors to her own bangs we agreed you would NOT jump on the sink and scare the bejesus out of her causing her to now sport Girl Interrupted bangs for the next six weeks.
Sadly,
Your human waiting to be carted away to the looney bin
It's a viscous cycle. An unbreakable chain. My cross to bare. Bangs; the bane of my existence.
xoks
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