I described the haircut I wanted as a sort of Goldie Hawn look,but what I left with looked like they'd run a lawn-mower over my head. The layers were uneven and too short on the top. It was wild, like I'd stuck my finger in an electrical outlet or something. My friends asked me what was up with the mad professor haircut, I said I was trying to look like Einstein to see if my physics grades went up.
Her haircut was an act of defiance against her mother. She had had her long straight blonde hair cut into a mohawk and dyed several brilliant shades of green, blue and pink. The pikes were over a foot high and had the effect of making her look quite menacing.
The haircut was several inches shorter than I had asked for. But it was too late now. My dark locks lay on the black and white tile floor and I could feel the cool breeze on my neck where there should have been hair. The haircut could only be described as lopsided and I stifled my tears as she held the mirror up to see the hack-job she was so proud of. I daren't ask her to fix it for fear of how much more she would chop off. I slunk from the chair and paid my bill, then ran all the way home to show my mother.
I went to the bathroom and dug the nail scissors out of my zippered makeup bag. They were too small, but it was a choice between that and one of Mr. Vitroni's paring knives. It took me quite a while to saw the hair off, strand by strand. I tried shaping what remained, but it got shorter and shorter, though no less uneven, until I saw that I'd cropped my head like a concentration camp inmate's.
Found in Lady Oracle, authored by .