Okay, a slight exaggeration, maybe, but a few inches shorter, and I'd have been having a No.1 hit with 'Snip Me Baby One More Time (And I'll Rip Yer Effin' Face Off Mix).' I asked for hair that stopped just between my shoulder blades, long-ish, but not all 1970's hippy-dippy flower-powerified in length. 'I want nothing too neat or too conventional or too mumsy', I told the hairdresser. What do I get?
Well, I've got ultra-neat, just past collar length, stupid, girly hair that flicks up at the ends a la 1960's. So I've gone back even further in time. Flick-ups! I am so NOT a flick-ups girl. Don't get me wrong, it's an expert cut, but it's not me. It's very chic, and I've always been more freak than chic. I'm so bloody miserable about it. I've just washed it again, in the hope that the flick-ups are merely the result of blow-drying. If not, I'm investing in some floppy summer hats and staying out of public view until it grows. Ugh!
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