I have what you might call "high-maintenance hair". It's thick, curly and about 80% gray (Thanks, Dad!). And I want it to be smooth, straight and brown. It's tougher than it sounds to make that magic happen. I'm in the salon every 4 weeks dropping a couple hundred bucks on my mane. It's a real budget buster.
I've basically had the same hair style my entire life, with the exception of an occasional change in layers. I went into the salon for a trim and color, but what I left with was much more... er, I mean, less.
I'm not sure if I was having a mid-thirties crisis or if it was the glass of wine that they served me during my color process, but in that moment, I decided to cut 6 solid inches off my hair.
After getting back home and putting the kiddos to bed, I was experiencing new do remorse. I mean, my long hair is kind of what defined me - like rehab for Amy Winehouse or really bad outfits for Lady Gaga. Will I still look and feel like me without my long locks?
About that time, I felt a shooting pain in my right hand. I looked down to discover that I was being stung by a yellow jacket right there in my own living room! I guess the little devil snuck in the back door while it was open at some point that evening. And, I'm allergic. Fabulous. Please pass the Benedryl.
Lesson Learned: Don't eff with the hair gods. They'll mess you up.
