Thanks to a terrible stylist, I now have boy-hair

My husband makes fun of me for many reasons, but mainly because I am always saving for a rainy day.  Whenever we get an unexpected windfall, i.e. a tax refund or a nice birthday gift in the form of a check, I immediately run to the bank to deposit it.  I even started saving for Maya’s college education before I met Ali!

Yes, I am that fiscally responsible.

With these self-described quirks, it should come as no surprise that I find it very difficult to splurge on things.  I blame it on my Indian upbringing!  Luckily my wardrobe doesn’t suffer too much because I am quite fortunate to have a fantastic mother-in-law who keeps my closet fully stocked.  Otherwise I may still be wearing the ugly Express Ponte Pants I bought 9 years ago, which, incidentally, are still hanging in my closet because it makes me feel great to know that 5 years after having Maya I can still fit in a size 2. I pretend that isn’t due to the fact that the pants are made out of a very cheap, stretchy material.

Some of the things I refuse to splurge on include:

  • Very expensive restaurant dinners – I’m talking about places that charge $18 for a Caesar Salad composed of a few leaves of lettuce and a couple of croutons.
  • Designer Jeans – I’ve learned my lesson on this one, although Paige still holds a special place in my heart.
  • Haircuts – Every single time I’ve spent a lot on a haircut I’ve had to spend more at another salon to get it fixed.

Apparently I am a slow learner because I spent $75 last week to get a trim at a so-called reputable salon, only to have my hair literally hacked to death.  I had no idea what to say when I saw the end result so I did what any other non-confrontational person would do - I told the stylist that it looked great, I gave her a fat tip, and I headed to Supercuts.

I almost cried when the Supercuts stylist said, “Oh honey, what happened to your hair?”  I almost cried again when she told me that she’d have to cut 3 inches off in order to correct my chia pet look.

Before:

After:

Don’t let my moronic smile fool you - I am really quite upset that my hair is gone and I look like a boy.  So, as I ponder why I am a complete idiot for not telling the stylist the truth (although she could obviously tell she did a terrible job), and I avoid mirrors like the plague, I am off to Target to splurge on some much-needed hats. 

I see myself wearing a lot of those for the next few months.

Ameena Din http://www.fancythatfancythis.com

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