Me: (Look of utter shock) What? When? Who did that? How? (Feels hair) Oh my God, how did that happen?
I was going to get my haircut so I'd look older (good Lord, I'm going to be an adult...) but now I look like a prepubescent boy. Woot.
Well, I was asking for it. I just popped into V&M haircutters (because it's close-ish and cheap - £12 wash and cut for any style - and also because I'm a stinge) and was like, 'Yeah, I'd like it short and messy,' and that's exactly what I got.
I got back home and Doug laughed in my face. 'Hahahahaha! Ali, you look like this boy in my school...'
My fringe keeps poking me in the eyes. Now I remember why I was so against fringes in the first place. Eheu.
The trouble with going to a hairdresser's is that once you sit down in that chair, you are at the complete mercy of the hairdresser. He or she could either make you look absolutely awesome and happy, or the result could be upsetting and you'd have a bad hair day forever - or rather, a bad hair year, or whenever until you next get your hair cut. Dangerous stuff. He who wields the scissors holds the power over you.
Thankfully, hair grows, so I'll look more like a girl in a few months time. Hopefully.