(Note: Apparently anyone who blogs and then gets a haircut with bangs, uses the above blog title. Go figure. Do a google search, I dare you. You'll see what I mean.)
So one Sunday morning, I got up relatively early and thought, hey, I should flat-iron my hair to see how long it is. The pic doesn't quite do it justice, but trust me, it's longer than it's been since 7th grade.
Then I went home for President's Day, and as I was helping Sweet Mom dry the dishes, she asked in her sweet, concerned, and motherly way: "So what are you going to do with your hair?" I know she wants me to put my best self forward, and since I'm not sixteen anymore, I just laughed. See how grown-up I'm getting?
So I decided, okay, it's probably about time for a trim. But since I can't go spend money on a haircut without getting some semi-drastic change, I decided to get bangs.
The night before getting said haircut, my brother told me he hates bangs. Again, as evidence of my growing level of maturity, I retorted: "When your hair looks as crappy as it does, I don't care what you say." That was instead of getting really angry and hurt.
Said brother came to visit me at work, and he conceded that my new bangs aren't as obnoxious as they could have been. I pointed out that he has bangs. And that we were wearing the same shoes. Hence the following pictures.