Too Much Perfection?

I took a mommy break this afternoon and let my MIL keep the wutz. I drove to town at a snail's pace, enjoying the leisurely drive while listening to my tunes. I even chatted on the phone for a little bit to a good friend of mine. Then finally I arrived at the hair salon.

Yes, dear readers, I actually went to get the mop charading as my hair cut!

Fortunately, my hair stylist was a bit backed up, so I got a moment to grab one of those hair mags and flip through it to drink in the sight of all the hairstyles I wouldn't be caught dead in.

Posh Spice's hair? Pffftthh. As if.


Finally it is my turn to take the chair. I tell my favorite stylist in the entire world exactly what I want. In detail. Perhaps a little too much detail. Because sometime during the conversation, I think she went *ZZZZzzzzzzzZZZZZZ*

Needless to say, I believe our wires got crossed a wee bit.

Just a touch really.

Okay, maybe more than a touch.

All I really wanted was a much shorter version of the same haircut I already had. Instead, she snipped and she trimmed, and she cut. And cut. And cut.

Until I looked like....

Posh Spice.





Though I must be honest with myself, I don't look like Posh Spice (hahahasnorthahahah), but that's the shortest cut I can think of that my new style resembles!

And you know what? It ain't too bad. (Says she who hasn't tried to style it yet.)