Pathetic day.

As an abnormally overly emotional being a woman, sometimes you just have those moments when you start to cry even though something isn’t even a big deal and you KNOW it’s stupid but you just can’t stop.  Especially when you’re overly hormonal for womanly reasons.

And so begins the story of one of the most sadly pathetic days of my life.  

As you know, I have had little success in finding someone to replace the best hair stylist ever.  And by little I mean none.  Therefore, my hair had grown to the longest it had ever been, and I had become unknowingly attached to said blonde locks.  For the first time in my 26 years of life I could reach behind my back and touch my hair with my fingers.  It was glorious, but alas, all good things must come to an end.

A couple of weeks ago, I called a salon that I had gone to a couple times before and had luck with good trims and made an appointment for that same evening.  I had decided that I was going to go all out and cut off a whopping 3 inches of hair.  I sat down in the chair and Yana asked me what I wanted.  I’ve learned that I should be very specific with these stylists because I don’t want to leave disappointed and going to get your hair cut is expensive.

“Three inches off the bottom, my layers need to be re-shaped – my other stylist usually uses a razor to do that – and I’d also like my bangs reshaped.  My hair DEFINITELY still needs to be able to go in a ponytail.” 

I thought that I was being clear.  

Until she took the first snip.  And it was a snip of eight inches.  EIGHT INCHES.  

To say that I was shocked is an understatement.  But after the first cut, when the cut is way way WAY shorter than you were anticipating, there’s nothing you can do.  I didn’t want a HORRIBLE haircut, so I just sat and watched my hair fall around me.  I was sweating profusely underneath the cape and I was trying to continue on with normal conversation.

An HOUR AND A HALF LATER she was done and had styled it HORRIBLY.  She didn’t fully straighten it, my cowlick was out of control and it was SO FRIZZY.  And THEN she was like “Oh, you can still put it in a pony tail!”  And started to gather my ABOVE THE SHOULDER length hair together and was like “… You might need a pin or two…”  Yeah.  There’s no way this is going into a ponytail.  More like a NUB.  

I had her do a few more layers because at this point I figured I should own it instead of take the following day off work to drive to Lake Geneva for an emergency revival haircut from the best stylist ever.  I have had my hair this short before, so I knew how to style it and how she should layer it, etc.  I had to do a lot more guiding than I’m used to. 

It was just a shock.  A big shock.  

And THEN she had the NERVE to tell me that I would need my hair cut EVERY SIX WEEKS and that I should probably SCHEDULE MY NEXT APPOINTMENT RIGHT NOW.  


I was so traumatized.  I did not reschedule.  I’ve never gotten my hair cut every six weeks.  Sigh.

I left the salon and called Jenna.  And started to cry.  Jenna, true to her big sister, I’m-going-to-solve-this-problem-for-my-younger-sister-because-it’s-my-DUTY form, the form the I know and love and needed from her, was wonderful.

S: “Jen.  My hair is SO short.  It is SO SHORT.  I hate it.  I HATE IT.  She did a HORRIBLE job styling it and I HATE IT.”  

J: “Did you pay for that?  I hope you didn’t pay for that.  Did you TELL her that you hated it?  You BETTER have told her that you hated it, Sara.”

S: *sob* “No, I paid and I didn’t say anything because it’s not like she can put the hair back on my head after she cuts it off!”

J: “Sara.  You need to CALL THE SALON and tell them what a HORRIBLE job she did!  You need to complain!!”

S: “I don’t want to.”

J: “You know what?  You give me the number and I’LL call the salon!  I WILL CALL THEM and tell them how unhappy you are!!!”

S: “I have to go.  You really are the best.”

Peter and I were meeting for dinner after my hair cut.  I was thirty minutes late because YANA took so long to cut my hair.  I saw his car in the parking lot, and pulled in to the spot that was right next to him.  He was still in his car.  I was done crying at this point.  

When I parked my car, I looked over at Peter.  He looked at me.  And his eyes got wide.  Then I saw him mouth “Your hair is so short!”  And then I started crying again.

Now, Peter grew up with two brothers and is not used to hormones and haircuts and girly things.  So he didn’t really know what to do.  He’d never seen me in this state over my hair and I was going ballistic.  He sat down in the passenger seat of my car.

S: “I HATE MY HAIR.  I told her to cut off three inches.  THREE INCHES!!  It’s SO short.  IT. IS. SO. SHORT.  I hate it.  I hate it!!”

P: *Looking at me really sadly and not knowing how to comfort me.*


P: “I don’t hate it!  I like it!  It looks good!”

S: “You’re just saying that.  I know you’re lying.” *still crying*

I then decided to get my shit together and stop crying.  After fixing my makeup and fanning my eyes to dry the tears that were still threatening to spill over, we went to dinner.  But not before I texted my mom and my sisters the tragedy that had occurred.  They are the best ever.

*Note: At this point I thought that she only cut off 7 inches.  
Peter later told me that it was closer to 8 or 9.  

Probably one of the most pathetic pictures that I’ve ever taken.
I had Peter take this picture of me so that I could show my sisters my hair.
After he took the picture, he was like “Sar, you look SO SAD in that picture.”
And I told him I was glad because it is a true depiction of my feelings.

My wonderful sisters’ and mom’s responses to my hair.
Look at that support.  Adrianna even swears!  Twice!!
They are so wonderful.

The next day I woke up feeling sad and used way too much shampoo and conditioner in my hair.  The good news is that since I’ve had my hair this length before, I knew how to style it, etc.  After I was done, I liked it.  I think that I was just so shocked because it was NOT what I was expecting.  Or what I had asked for… But anyways.

Look at how pretty Jenna is.
Look at how big Josh is getting!

Much happier.

At work the next day, people started asking me if I donated my hair.  I WOULD have had I known EIGHT INCHES were going to be cut off.

So there you have the story of one of the most pathetic, lowest moments of my life.  I’m not proud.

Now let’s look at Nora having the opposite reaction to her first haircut than I had to my umpteenth haircut.

Now let’s look at how cute Josh is.  (Ignore the drool.)

And now look at this conversation that Jenna and I had with our mom a few weeks ago.

This must have been on a Saturday, because Peter and I were driving somewhere when this conversation took place because I was laughing SO HARD that tears were streaming down my cheeks and Peter thought I had gone senile.  

Jenna was having a shitty day so I wanted to cheer her up.  

Pun intended.

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