Exotic yet ordinary

So, turns out I didn't hate my hair in the morning after all. This time, it took two whole days for the hateration to set in. Two days before I started tugging on my hair like a child would a Crissy Doll. Two days before I started whining that it looked like the beautician walked off before finishing the cut. And, just so you know, I wanted to give the new cut a chance. I really did. I wanted to be okay with it, honestly, but those fussy curls and the frizz and all the brush wrangling required made it really difficult. No amount of pulling, pleading, or pomade seemed to make any difference. So finally, this morning, in a fit of frustration after fighting my hair for an hour (not only do I tend to choose styles for straight hair, I also apparently choose those I have no chance in hell of replicating once my new do and I make it home), I slapped some scissors in my mom's hand and had her snip a smidge more off the length in front.