Impulsive Decisions

I've needed to get my hair cut for quite a while now - the last time I had it done was before Christmas, and it was looking pretty shabby. So, I booked myself an appointment at my hairdresser of choice for Saturday, and was all set.

"So, what are you going to get done?", I was asked on Friday.

Like a flash of inspiration, the answer came to me.

"I think I'll go a bit blonder. You know, for summer. And ..... I think I'll get a fringe!"

For the sake of clarification, at this point I should explain that what we in the UK call "a fringe", in Canada we would call "bangs". Just so you don't get confused.

And so, I tell her what I want. But I just say "a fringe". I do not say "a fringe, but longer and kind of side-swepty and not too short, and did I mention not too short?"

Clearly, I should have said that, if that's what I wanted. Because that is not what I have.

I have a fringe. And it's not a sweepy, long, non-fringe, fringe. It's a proper fringe. It's bangs, baby.

Bangs. It's madness, I tell you.

I'm getting used to it though. I think. Oh, impulsive decisions. You're so much fun.