Remember way back in March when I cheated on my hairdresser and paid a dear price? To recap, an emergency cut before a big party resulted in stylish bangs like these:
The back was too long as well, and it looked almost...almost...mullet-y. Zut alors!
It took me until June to work up the courage, and the length, to go back and admit my transgression to my regular stylist, B.
B was not amused, blog friends. Not one little bit.
B: "Ah, I zhe how you ahhre. You come in wits zhis mess and you want B to fix, yes?" (B is from Aix-en-Provence, and if my rendition of his (very awesome) accent is off, well, it's zhe best I could do.)
Moi: "Yes. (bows head) I'm sorry. If if makes you feel any better, I had to go to a black-tie event with terrible hair, so I've learned my lesson."
B: "It does NAUGHT. (picks up strands) Ugh. She cut zhis wits a RAAZORRRRE, didn't she? Your HAAAIIIIRREE is too FIIIIINE for zhat! I 'ave told you!"
Moi: (weeps) I don't remember if she used a razor.
B: (crosses arms) She did. I can see. I 'ave eyyes.
Moi: Maybe you are right.
B: Of causse I am. (takes my head in his hands) No more! No more of zhat! Oh-kay?
B: Oh-kay zhen. I will fix.
Whew! So we are back together. And we didn't even need a counselor. I love B -- he can sure dish it out, but he can also take it. Plus, I look like myself again.
How about you? Have you had to admit a mistake lately?