Three weeks? That is, like, a totally different month on the calendar! Who knows how long my bangs will be at that point.
But that's okay, because I am good at everything. I own a pair of scissors and a mirror; how hard can it be.
"MOV? Did I see you go in there with scissors? You're not cutting your own bangs, are you? Don't you remember what happened last time?" He sounds a little frantic.
I inspect my bangs again, and realize they might need a tad bit of evening out.
I work on them some more.
This is definitely shorter than I initially intended. Much shorter. But at least they are straight.
(Oh, I just realized something. Everyone knows I highlight my hair, and I currently have some serious roots showing. So, my bangs are not, ahem, quite as blond as I am portraying them to be in the picture.)
"Oh, Sweetie," he murmurs, "not again."
That's okay. There is one other thing I am really good at besides cutting hair: buying baseball caps.