As any girl knows, the prospect of having a bad hair day is enough to make you wish you could crawl back into bed and hope that Martians would come down to earth and kidnap you so that you would never have to face another human being for as long as you live. Okay, so I’m exaggerating, but never-the-less a bad hair day is a bad hair day, and that’s how it all started.

I woke up one morning to discover that the thick mop of hair that was growing out of my head was looking drab, boring and extremely grown out. I needed a change.

So, I called my favourite hair salon and attempted to book an appointment with a girl named Jennifer who I like to call the “Hair Wizard.” Unfortunately, to my dismay, she had gone on vacation and wouldn’t be back for another week!

I didn’t know what I was going to do. Another week of looking in the mirror and seeing the frizzy haired girl looking back at me was more than I could bare.

Suddenly it all became clear. I knew everything was going to be okay. I would go to another hair salon without my hair stylist knowing.

The fateful day arrived and as I entered the new hair salon to get my hair cut a funny feeling crept up inside me. Was it guilt? Perhaps, or maybe it was because Tony who was going to cut my hair seemed completely uninterested in what I was telling him and thoroughly interested in what he thought he should do to my hair.

Before I could scream and run out of there, he started to cut, first with the big scissors and then with the thinning shears. In a matter of minutes, it was over. A big clump of my hair was lying on the floor and the girl staring back at me in the mirror didn’t look the girl before who was having a bad hair day, this girl was having a hair nightmare!

The eyes started to water, and the heart started to beat faster as I paid my bill quickly and ran out of the place in lightening speed.

When I got to my car, I surveyed the damage once again and started to bawl. It was the worst haircut I had ever gotten and to top it off, it had cost me fifteen dollars more than my usual haircut.

On the drive home I came to my senses. After all, it was just hair, and it would grow back.

In an attempt to damage control, I called my hair salon when I came home and booked an appointment for the next day with another girl. Once the damage was fixed, I thanked her tremendously and made her promise she wouldn’t tell Jennifer about my little escapade.

It’s been a week since the “hair cut” and my hair is growing out nicely but let this be a lesson to all the girls out there that are having a bad hair day. Never cut your hair on the spur of the moment and never, I repeat never, cheat on your hairstylist.

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