Hair today, gone tomorrow

Weeks ago I was anxious to get some new color for my hair (read: desperately try to cover the gray in a less time and money consuming way). I made an appointment with a stylist who had given me a pretty rockin' cut & color a few months before. I was pretty excited, as my hair was *practically perfect in every way* and so, upon arriving at the beauty bungalow, I talked with the stylist about color (a lot) and cut (none! or as close to none as a hairstylist will allow).
Long story short, I left with hair color I was mildly pleased with and a hairCUT, yes, she cut it, to which my eldest pronounced as "You look like a rock star, mama!" And, without knowing that, a friend of mine mentions
"It looks like a reverse mullet."
Me: "Yes, I think so, too"
Her: "Yeah, like Joan Jett!"
Anyone who knows me knows that I left there with THE WRONG HAIRCUT! And not only because I asked her, no, told her not to cut it. I am not a rock star…singing to the girls in the car doesn't count!
And here we reach the meaningful part of the post: Mopshots. A place for me to go and sulk in the privacy of my own home, while my rock star hair grows out and I search through some very lovely haircuts and styles and wonder if the children and the Mr. would notice if I happened to fly off to Cedar Rapids in order to better look like Amber…much more "me" than Joan, thank you very much.


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