Remind me again why I go to the hairdresser so seldom?

So. Went to the hairdresser. *pulls fingers through hair*
It's short. It's like, really short. But I figured, if I'm gonna cut my hair and like, stay at the safe shoulder length a little bangs over the side which is the haircut that I've had three million times and that's it, I'll go mad from boredom and dye my hair purple just because, and that will make my boss stare at me even more suspiciously than he already does because of my tattoos. I mean, there's no risk of ever catching him glancing at my boobs because he's too busy staring at my tattooed arm, like he's really trying to understand it but can't.

Anyways, back to my HAIR. I sat in the awful chair with that robe over me. My theory is, because so much hair falls through that thing anyways and gets lodged on your neck and stays there until you've showered like three times, I believe that the robes are less for protection from falling hairs and more for hindering customers to throw their hands to their heads when the hairdresser is going loose on that long, fancy ponytail. Because when that ponytail is gone, there's no turning back from a cut and style ergo their pay.

Like for me. I was like "to about here" and she was like "Yes, well then, better start it off." and grabbed my hair and just cut it right off. Then she showed me the part that had left my person. It was a solid 12 inches of orangey coppery goldeny yellowy wisps of hair that fell to the floor.

Good lord. That's four years of hair, lost in two seconds. Very well, it wasn't like I could have it loose anyways because it just tangled and looked worn. The hairdresser nipped here and there and then pulled out the shaving comb, and just scoured through my hair, tousling it as she went along. She threw my bangs, that we'd agree on making more prominent, on the side and started working around the back. I looked at myself in the mirror and felt the regret flush over me.

In mere seconds, I'd gone from this:

To this:

Having to put all my energy not to start laughing or crying, I realised how foolish I'd been. I looked at the hairdresser. She had styled her hair exactly like this:

"I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN!" I told myself, sitting in a chair surrounded by my golden locks, shorthaired like Justin Bieber. "I've been Bieberized", I thought to myself. "How am I ever supposed to meet the eye of any beholder now? It's just teen girls that'll feel strangely attracted to me without knowing why really." The hairdresser kept on and styled my hair and blowdried it and showed me how to do it and was all "It looks SO good!" and I was like "It's like 50% Bieber!" in my head of course because I'm not THAT.. honest?

When I had paid I walked away straight into a clothing store with mirrors in it to see what I really looked like, all I could think about was "Tomboy". With my jeans, a sweatshirt and bob'y shoulder length hair (that thank some lawd came into light as she went), I looked exactly like some girl in a stereotypical movie that's just about to reveal to her family and friends that's she's been acting odd lately because she's met someone new - a girlfriend. She yells out that she's a lesbian and cries in the arms of her grandmother while her dad just gives her a "Right, so when's dinner?" kind of look while the mom is trying to process the fact that it may not be any grandchildren from her first born daughter after all. That's how I looked.

I rearranged the hair to suit my personal taste just a little better and then, in an act of pure self control, I forced myself to walk around downtown a little just to look at people and how they reacted to my hair. Would they stare and point and be all like "Wow, that's a LESBIAN!" or would they frown because the hair doesn't suit me? Well, perhaps needless to say, no one reacted. At all. The reaction from bf was "Wow, it's short. I like it. It's pretty. You look.. more grown up" combined with the twinkle in his eye telling that he in fact was getting just a tad of a hard on. Looking at it from a let's-find-the-positive-things-about-this-light, it's good that I have a boyfriend that gets turned on by grown women. He also pointed out later that I look more grown up while looking at me like that again, so I can be pretty sure he wasn't lying.

So it's said and done, I've washed it and realised that I don't even know HOW to put conditioner on three inches long hair? the hair in the front is easier, but in the back? Haven't had this short hair in eight years? Here's the extremely realisitically drawn, non-polished end result, de-bieberized and normal:

It is united with some pain and some regret and some anxiety, but on the whole, I'm pleased. It was what had to happen. Now.. where's that bleach...