I have a mullet.
Not just like a "haha when you part your hair that way it does sort of look mullet-y", but an honest-to-Nascar "business in the front party in the back" mullet.
I asked to have my BANGS TRIMMED.
I have not been able to find a decent stylist since we moved here four years ago. I would hop from referral to referral never very pleased with the results. I have naturally curly hair which I often straighten. So, I need to have some layers in the front, but BUT (!) I need them to be long and blendable since I also wear my hair curly and need the waves to flow together.
No one seems to be able to handle this.
That is, until our cruise this year. When, on a whim, I got THE BEST HAIRCUT IN HISTORY OF HAIRCUTS.
When we returned home from Mexico, I was high on my beautiful layers and once again intoxicated with hope that I could find a stylist to recreate the magic that the middle-aged bald gay man had on the ship. The only thing I had to go on was that he was Vidal Sassoon certified and told me I needed an "A frame" cut.
So, a couple months ago I set out to find someone Vidal Sassoon certified who knew what the heck an "A frame" cut was. That's when Robin came into the picture. Robin - big loud obnoxious Born Again Robin who I hope dies in a fire - insisted she knew exactly what type of cut I needed. The result wasn't half bad - it was cute enough - so I considered it a minor success.
Then. Yesterday happened.
I returned to Robin and asked that she please "just trim my bangs". I explained to her that my cut was already flat and that I wanted to just give it a little more fullness around my face.
Please learn from this. Do NOT ever say "fullness around my face" unless you mean "can you please make me look like an angry panda".
Robin grabbed a huge chunk of my hair, lifted it above my head, and CHOP.
FOUR INCHES fell to the ground.
I gasped. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING??"
Robin immediately started rattling off about "L.A." and how "everybody wears their hair like this there" and "this cut is so now" and "don't you trust me?".
"This is not at all what I asked for!" I cried.
She started fussing with it and putting a bunch of product in it and the more she fussed, the fuller the top of my hair got and the flatter the bottom of my hair got until finally all I saw was Joe Dirt.
I literally grabbed her hand and ordered her to put the scissors down before I drove them into her thigh. Then she asked me, accusingly, "Don't you ever wear ponytails?".
What. The. Hell. Ponies?? I wanted my BANGS TRIMMED.
Lena does not like the baby horses on her head.
I can't wait to see you all at BlogHer. I'll be the one wearing the Confederate flag and bragging about how big my trailer is. You can call me Lena Jo.
So, let this message help put your problems into perspective. Let the lesson fill your empty ungrateful soul. I hope you take the time to hug your kids a little tighter. Laugh a little longer. Love a little deeper.
And kiss the ground that you have lived another day WITHOUT A MULLET.
You know who else does not have a mullet? Sarah from In the Trenches of Mommyhood. But, she does know her 80's movies. You rock, Sarah. ...But, not as hard as I do obviously.