I called in at the hair salon and they can fit me in this evening.
Wish me luck. Last time I was at the salon, in June, my formerly loved hairdresser gave me a haircut that aged me by 10 years and sent me fucking running to the Botox clinic to try and claim those years back. A haircut that makes me feel depressed just thinking about it, never mind having to look in the mirror. A haircut that belongs on a woman who is actively trying to be unattractive. A haircut that looks awful no matter what I do with it. A haircut that is significantly less fashionable than the one I saw my 70-year-old aunt wearing the other week. A really, really inappropriate and wrong and bad haircut that I never asked for.
My hairdresser and I will be having a Very Serious Conversation about the haircut I actually want. It is still 4-6 inches too short to even achieve a very short bob, but at least we can start working on getting it into shape.
I swear to God, if he fucks this up a second time, I will never go there again. I will go straight to a competitor salon and have them attach an entire head full of extensions at whatever cost, until my hair grows back. I can’t live with this awful haircut any more. It has got to go. He is getting one more chance to demonstrate that he understands what I want, and then that is it. Finito.
I am scared of letting him come near me with the scissors now and I am ready to be upset. The last couple of months have wrecked my self-confidence. Wish me luck, please. It should be game over by about 7pm. I will immediately report in here with news.