I’ve been a bit of a wild child lately. I’ve been staying up past ten. When this happens my better judgement goes out the window and I start doing things that “Normal Molly” would not do. Like dying my jeans with bleach. That happened two nights ago. I then proceeded to use the dishwasher to rinse the bleach out of my jeans. Twice. With Cascade Power Packs. Since we don’t use the thing for dishes, it made perfect sense for me to spare my other clothes from the effects of bleeding bleach and wash my new “special” ones in isolation. Then, last night I went to town! Not in a literal sense mind you. Figuratively. My discernment wanes as the night grows later. I was doubled over, head half in the toilet, holding back some of my hair with one hand, and cutting the rest with my other. I was going to town on my hair with a pair of rusty Fiskars!
I’ll uh, spare you the gory details. My cousin’s going to school to cut hair, and so did my mom. So it’s not like I don’t have connections to affordable trims. For some reason I grew up in a “cobbler’s children have no shoes” sort of situation and I’m used to trimming my own locks. Mom never treated a trim like it wasn’t a chore; so I stopped asking. Last night I went far though. I was grabbing chunks and cutting; going from the toilet to the mirror, back to the toilet and then back to mirror until I placed the trash can on the bathroom counter so that I could cut and check twice as fast! I was yelling, “Weston, come stop me…I’m not going to have any hair left.” The next thing that I knew I was seriously considering giving myself bangs. I’ve never had them before and ultimately decided that it was best to sleep on the decision. Especially considering how these late nights are affecting my better judgement lately. I’m lucky, for my hair’s sake, that I didn’t bust out the bleach again!
So I woke up this morning with very layered hair and I have to admit, it might look halfway good. I’d hate to put my cousin out of a job when she graduates from beauty school but if this dietetics thing don’t work out, you can hit me up for a discount due. I’ll be standing on the street corner. Just me and my rusty Fiskars.