Sometime in the middle of last year, I realised that good hair days and good skin days are sort of mutually exclusive for me. After a suprisingly long spell of delightfully-soft and manageable hair, I decided to push my own agenda and planned on messing it up—in order to benefit other things.
And just how does one go about something like that? Get a crappy hair cut, of course!
And how does one get this crappy hair cut? Easy as pie. When the cute hairdresser chick asks you all-excitedly what you want to do today with your hair, you nonchalantly say something like, “whatever” or “I don’t care”. The operative word being nonchalantly, of course.
Never fear, the moment she hears this, she’ll go from gently caressing and playing with your hair to being the evil monster-lady who just chop-chops arbitrarily; almost angrily. VoilÃ , instant bad haircut.
Now all I need to do is wait for the second part of the plan to work itself out.