You start getting all kinds of strange, crazy ideas in your noggin that can segue to life-altering consequences. This photo that I’m sharing with you here is the first in some shocking evidence I just received: I have bangs.
For the first time since I was 10 years old, I am sporting little tiny hairs at the apex of my browline.
It all started with a fabulous Christmas present from my in-laws. An innocuous little cut/color appointment to start my New Year off right.
The appointment weighed heavily on my mind all week, daunting me (I obviously need more important things to worry about). Should I go long? Short? Dark? Light? Bangs or no bangs.
I ran the bangs idea by my stylist and she took it from there. An hour later, my hair was cut, colored, and I had no idea who the person in the mirror was. I thought she looked sassy, but she didn’t look like me at all.
Now, I’m home and the realization that I have bangs is slowly dawning on me. What have I done?! My hair is really cute, but this look is so different I’m having cognitive dissonance just from looking at my face (This is, needless to say, why I will probably never do plastic surgery. Think of the therapy bills!)
Regardless of how unfamiliar I now look, I am very pleased with the results. It’s something I’ve mulled over for a long time and I’m glad I took the plunge. I don’t want to die without any scars, so to speak.
Wes is a big fan as well. He enjoys the fringe benefit (Ha! You see what I just did there? So terribly punny) of having a wife who gets her kicks from changing up her hair, which is that it’s kind of pleasant to look at the person you see every day with fresh eyes. It certaily doesn’t hurt that my stylist is a maven with coloring and cutting my hair, either.
Whichever way you want to slice it, my hair is bangin’ now (Yet again with the bad pun. You can stop reading if you feel nauseous) and I get to live with it until it grows out again. As far as brash style choices go, this one turned out alright. It could have been worse, I could have embraced Hammer pants or, even worse, leggings as pants.