I do not understand how I can take in a picture of my hair when it is a quarter of an inch short, say, "Hi. See this? I was growing out a buzz cut. Please to be making me look like this" and still it's poking and prodding and feeling bad that I'm asking them to chop off my hair to get it done.
So, the chick pins up all my hair and wets it down, then hauls over an instructor (I go to a beauty school, for verily, I am
cheap frugal.) The instructor looks at the photo, and says "Great. This what we're aiming for? Okay, go ahead and start chopping. Trust me, when they get to this stage, they just want to be done with their hair, it's too much trouble, right?" I laughed and told her she was dead right, and so she tells the chick who's doing the cutting to believe me when I say I want it short and start cutting.
And to the chick's credit, she does. She gets most of the way through, and then she's like "So! How's this? ... A little shorter?" "Yea, shorter. Please." "Okay, I just didn't want to take too much off." For the love of muffins, woman, I have photographic evidence that you can't get too short, and I showed it to you. Chop, chop. :)
I eventually (mostly) got what I wanted, an hour and $10 later. It feels great. No more hair in my face when I'm running or first thing in the morning or in class as my ponytail disintegrates. (Well, until it grows again. @#$@#$.)
Pictures, eventually, when I'm home. I'm at school, wrestling with old dead white German men.