Dear Lady Who Destroyed My Hair,
I know that you were proud of the work you did when you chopped off what little hair I had left and gave it a horrendous dye job, but it's been well over two months now and, I gotta say, what you did still makes me cry.
It's not your fault that I cut off my waist-length locks in a fit of postpartum frustration several months before I came to you. Nor is it your fault that I'm of an age where I might seek assistance in hiding the few gray hairs I have growing around my crown. However, when I went to you with a slightly shaggy, chocolate brown bob and asked for you to give me a cut and color that would sustain me until I could grow my hair out to my shoulders, I was not in any way expecting the monstrosity I left the salon with.
I mean, really? Turning me into Kate whats-her-face, hair super short in the back and long enough in the front to hang annoyingly in my eyes. My hair's too freakin' thick and curly for this shiz, even if I asked for it. Which I didn't. You didn't even leave it long enough for me to push it back behind my ears. I have a child!!! But am forced to jerk my head to get my hair out of my eyes like those emo kids on South Park.
And then dying it nearly black and bleaching big, ugly chunks all over. Really? It looks like the Boy was playing with the bleach bottle.
I went to see you because I wanted to feel a little bit better about myself, instead I'm left with a tragic mess on my head.
So, to summarize, eff you hairdresser!
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