I have a haircut appointment at 4:30 this afternoon and I am thinking about doing some mild changes to the haircut I have known and loved for the past seven years.
Last time I got a hiarcut, I added some layers. This time I may go in for longish bangs.
Bangs. Bangs! The bane of my elementary existance. Some sort of estrogen force field (my mother) persisted in me having bangs from the time I was born (with a full head of hair) until I was in the 5th grade and could manage to run a comb and a rubberband through my own thick, thick hair. Little girls were apparently meant to wear bangs. There were no other options. I can remember getting them trimmed by my grandmother, sitting on her kitchen table with a piece of scotch tape across my hair, so that she would cut a perfecly straight line.
These bangs will be long and flippy. Shorter than they are now, but defiantly in my eyes. The better to plot and plan evil with, don't you know.
