What is it about holding a pair of scissors that makes someone become a cloth eared twat lacking the basic understanding of units of measurement? Oh yes, I got my hair cut today, can you tell?
All I wanted is half an inch (at the most) taken off my fringe and even less taken of the sides (leaving the hair over my ears), fairly specific, easy direction and surely nothing to offend the delicate sensibilities of your average hairdresser. So why did he take about an inch and a half off the fringe, top and sides!?! The length I had been cultivating gone in the blink of a cack handed idiots eye. Yeah, it looks okay and it’s still longish, and in a months time it’ll probably be back to the length I was liking but with a bit more sense and shape, but why must I wait a month after the jobs been done for it to look like it should have when I paid for the fucking thing?! Why do I have to look like a geek who’s atempting a trendy haircut just because the person who cut it thought they knew who I was better than me? When asking ‘are you going clubing tonight’ and hearing the reply ‘Nah, I’ll watch some Doctor Who videos and read some comics” you’d think Edward Fucking Scissorhands would realise I didn’t want some semi mod/punk McFly atempt at coolness. Where’s my Dave Grohl meets Jeremy Dyson hair gone!?
It’s no good, I’ll just have read some newspapers to track down the days worth of death, destruction and disaster to put my own woes into perspective - ie some people nearly have it as bad as me.