Scissoring

I am considering getting a haircut. (Ahhh, see what I did there? With the title? And you perverts thinking it was a sex thing? But really it was about scissors, because of…okay, yeah, I think you got it.)

Seriously, though, I want one. I am trying to grow my hair out, so I don’t really want them to touch the ends. I just want a sort of side bangs-that-meld-with-the-rest-of-my-hair thing. Kinda like this:

Or maybe something like this:

There are two problems with this brilliant idea of mine, however. Number One is that I am scared. I have had some seriously bad haircutting experiences, including a hairdresser who yelled at me the entire time for straightening my hair (“I can tell you do it. I mean, it’s really obvious. These dead ends…God! Seriously, you need to not do that. It’s so bad for your hair. I mean, your hair is really damaged. Like, really damaged.” Why do you think I’m getting a haircut, genius?) and about fifty whose idea of a “little trim” is scalping me. And Number Two is that I have really fine, thin hair and I’m not sure that it’ll look anything like how I want it to.

So, if it doesn’t work out, I have a backup plan: a blonde-and-blue mullet.

Secretly, I’m just hoping I can finagle some way to side-sweep the hair I already do have into that cool side-bangs thing. I mean, I have shorter hair in the front, so what is their secret? Hairspray? Crisco? Newt’s eyes? Some kind of lube-and-Elmer’s glue concoction? This better not be like the mysterious Coca-Cola formula, because I wanna know.

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