Bad Hair & Buttons

It all started with the very rash decision to pop round the corner for a fringe trim. With a whole four weeks to wait for my next appointment with my fabulous hairdresser, and my fringe resembling bad jelly the witch's, it desperately needed a bit of a tidy up. In my defence, I did have some concerns about going to somewhere new, but I foolishly smothered the earworm screaming "don't do it!!" and in my desperation to look less like a mop, overrode it with “hey, it’s a fringe trim, how much harm can they do”…OH. MY. CHRIST.  This guy here:

We could be twins right now. I’m not quite sure how it could all go so horribly wrong in such a short space of time.  She didn’t SEEM to be pissed. I didn't detect any alcohol on her  breath.  Both her eyes APPEARED to be in good working order…I suppose it is possible that I nodded off and she whipped the pudding bowl out and placed it on my head BEFORE I woke myself with my own snoring, but I feel sure I would have noticed something as heavy as that being placed on my head…whatever the case may be, and whatever she did, she did it quickly, badly and with long reaching consequences. I’ve had a bit of a crack at fixing it as best I can but that has only made it slightly less horrendous. Thank goodness we are retreating to the farm where there are only cows and the odd duck to frighten...still, it's only for two days and it's going to take a LOT longer than that for this to repair itself. 

It's ironic that being part french, my OTHER facial hair seems to grow at a rapid rate, and that a brilliantly cut fringe grows out in what feels like five minutes whilst a badly hacked bowl cut seems to stop growing altogether for weeks on end. 

In an attempt to console myself, I hit the Wendy’s drive through and then proceeded to stuff my face with hot soothing chips.  Then went to the op shop and found some FABULOUS packets of old buttons.  Buttons are very high up on the treasure scale of 1 to 10, 1 being soot and poo and 10 being a rare and expensive piece of crown lynn…or a skull of some sort. Actually, skulls are 11, but  never mind.  Buttons are about an 8. 

The chips and the buttons have made me feel slightly better, so long as I avoid mirrors I can almost forget I look like Blackadder the fourth.  Suffice to say I have three alcoholic ginger beers chilling in the fridge for the ride between work and home…it’s only a 20 min car ride but you can never be too careful. Would hate to run out. I am a princess afterall...