My hair dresser, an astonishingly beautiful 20-something, always gives me a fringe I don't like. I just don't have the heart to tell her that - I walk out thinking, oh, it'll be alright, but then wake up the next morning ready to spend an hour trying to style it properly.
I'm almost contemplating going to another hair-dresser for a fringe trim...I know, I'm a traitor. What would my hair-dresser say when I go to my next appointment with a completely different fringe?! "Um, I did it myself?"
But on the plus side, my hair is now much lighter and shorter and I feel like a new woman :) I think I needed the hair-cut. I've been in a bit of a funk lately, and I think I'm slowly getting out of it, thanks to the help from my lovely hair cut (albeit the fringe), a great relaxing weekend with the flatmate, the Avengers (too many babes in one film!), an Inbetweeners marathon and a bloody fabulous roast chicken dinner.
Funk, go away.
Yours sincerely,
Jimmy x
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