A Haircut, Amended

Alright, I take it back. My Guy, he must have been on something. I don’t know what. All I know is that when my hair dried, I didn’t like it. Then again, nothing seems satisfying these days. But you don’t want to fuck with your reflection when your mind is in this state. And I did. And i regret it. Hair regrets are the kind that make you cry. Talking about of old boyfriends sometimes makes me physically cringe, and the thoughts of old jobs and old bosses makes my lips involuntarily curl into a snarl and my eyes roll… but nothing makes me wish I could take it back more than bad haircuts. This one is bad. I actually paid someone today to chop off the straw-dry clown wig that is my hair this afternoon. That’s another twenty dollars down the hole. I know, I know. It grows back. My problems are ridiculously and pathetically mundane and inconsequential. But I have to drag a comb through this rat’s nest every day. I have to watch the eyes of my clients and friends climb my head from my eyes to my crown and back down again and try to dismiss the beginnings of a good snicker in the corner of their lips as they realize my skin and hair are the same hideous shade of old milk. Damnit.