Don’t cut your own hair

I had a haircut a few weeks ago. It was really cute. I loved it. It was short and went really well with the shape of my face. I got it cut by Sabrina who’s a genius with the scissors and has been doing my hair for ever. Maybe even longer.

Then I got home and I thought there was too much hair to tuck behind my ears. So…I thought I’d trim it. I mean, how hard can a tiny trim be? Turns out, quite a bit.

I have no fear or scissors. I mean. Hair grows. So I took out a pair from the kitchen, grabbed the offending pieces of hair and cut away.

Nope. I have never learned how to cut hair. I have no real idea what I’m doing. I just figured it wasn’t that difficult since all I wanted to do was shorten the sides a bit.

Somehow, I cut more than I meant to…and I ended up with a bit of a mullet. And, by a bit, I mean a total mullet. With my new cut, I could join a hockey team with pride.


I practically ran back to Sabrina.

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