Friday, October 21, 2011
I have a love-hate relationship with my bangs. Basically a tolerance-despise relationship. Love the idea, hate the execution. On their best days I'm happy I have them... any other time I want to cut them off to little nubbins. On Wednesday the fella and I went to visit his grandmother - my first time meeting her. The cold, dry air up here is doing a number on my locks, so I opted for a messy updo with a headband and my bangs down... shaggy and equally a mess. After chatting on the couch for several minutes and calmly trying not to have a panic attack because of my bangs, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. My plan was simply to pat them with a hint of water to tame them into place, but something shiny and glinting caught my eye... several pairs of small, decorative scissors. I hesitated wondering if I was going to actually do what I was thinking about doing, but proceeded. I grabbed a pair and without even looking in a mirror grabbed my little clump of forehead hair, made a few awkward snips and voila! I quickly cleaned up the aftermath as best as I could and hurried back to my spot on the visiting sofa. The fella gave me a quizzical look after I was seated, but I kept my lips sealed and my bangs coiffed.