Finally, I can get this mane chopped off.  I mean look at it, the ends of it look like french fries.  This is what runs through my head during math, because who would think of Pre-Cal Trig an hour before they get their hair cut.

Finally the bell rings, and I drive a little too fast to get to the salon.  As I sit down in the chair, I mutter “only take two inches off, Tim” to my beloved and faithful hair dresser.  He starts tugging on my hair, and I start to see huge chunks of hair slowly float down on the floor.

An hour later, the tugging ceases and I turn around to look at my hair.  My hair was missing not just two inches, but four.

“Do you not love it?” shrieks Tim.

All I can think of is my beloved hair on the floor.  I couldn’t answer. I just wanted to scream.

How was I going to go to school tomorrow? He might as well dyed my hair blue!

“Why, yes, it’s great. Thank you.” I lie through my teeth, just because I’m that nice of a person.

I get in my car, tugging on my hair in an attempt to make it grow.  But as soon as I pull into the drive way, “I’m Sexy and I Know It” blasts on the radio. After belting a few lines, I know it will all be alright.