Venti Frustrations

I have one question: At what point does it become indecent to continue crying about a haircut you got over twelve hours ago?

I wanted Sandra and instead got “The Rachel” circa 1995. The fact is, that woman was going to cut my hair how she wanted, no matter what I said. But you listen here, hairdresser lady, I take issue with the fact that you show me you are going to take 2 inches off and then proceed to whack 5 INCHES OFF OF MY HEAD. I worked really hard to grow those split ends out, sister.

Actually, here’s what it sort of looks like:

Except I’m not blond, my neck doesn’t have that gazelle-like quality, and I don’t have the gorgeous face to distract people from the fact that my hair makes me look like a circus freak.

There are worse things in life, I’m sure.

And those worse things are:
1) Getting a skinny cinnamon latte when you ordered a skinny caramel latte.
2) Realizing that none of your co-workers have even noticed your awful haircut (or maybe they’re just too scared to say anything about it?) because you generally wear your hair in some sort of bun-like creation everyday anyway. They didn’t know how long your hair was to begin with.
3) Finally coming to grips with the fact that those bags under your eyes are never.going.away. No matter how much sleep you get.
4) Having to listen to Charlotte’s* hacking smoker’s cough and wheezy asthmatic breathing over the cubicle wall all day.

Thank you for listening to my petty and overstated problems.

Signed,
Resident Drama Queen

* Names have been changed to protect the breathless.