BANG! BANG!

Ooh... what was I thinking?
That was the only thought in my mind as I watched huge chunks of my hair flutter to the ground.
I suppose I just didn't emphasize the "choto" (transl. just a little) enough. I actually just went in for a trim, but I came back looking worse that the first-grade school portrait that was taken after I fell asleep with gum in my hair. That was the year my neighborhood nickname was "afro-puff." Yeah, the notoriouse AP is back. Only now, I'm way less cute.
I wanted to cry, but I didn't. I just sat there numbly, then smiled and profousely thanked the stylist. Paid. Left. This is my Japanese cultural education in action.
***Ack! He gave me bangs! Everyone knows, girls with curly hair just DON'T DO BANGS! They are not an option!***
Last thing I needed in an already down week. lacking adequate energy to poetically capture this moment. Maybe I'll include it in my exploits later in life, but for now, I'm cutting it short (no pun intended there) with this helpful advice.
Do not, do not, do not get a haircut in a country where you don't speak the language.