Have I ever mentioned that I hold the record for the largest number of bad haircuts in a lifetime? And I’m only in my mid-thirties, so I have SO MUCH TIME to make the record unbreakable.
Here, let me show you. (Are you sick of scanned in photos? TOO BAD. I have no words. WORDS. Who reads those anyhow?)
Here, I was nineteen months pregnant with Sachin. My hair looked perfectly fine before, but I thought that what my pregnancy needed was some really ugly hair. That always makes feeling like a whale more enjoyable.
See that top ponytail? Because I’m always fashionable. (The beautiful sleeping baby is Keshi at one month. He CAME OUT like that.)
I don’t even know.
Wait! WAIT! I haven’t even covered the 90s. Behold the power of curled under bangs:
Oh, that’s not that bad, I admit. But what about CROOKED bangs WITH an awkward top ponytail?
Would you be shocked if I told you that I cut my own hair right before my freshman photo? Color you surprised!
What can I say about this photo? Hairy arms? Hairy eyebrows? Boy haircut? Boy figure? Check, check, check and check! I told you I was mistaken for a twelve-year-old boy and now you know I actually was one. And before you ask, yes, I use a small nation’s worth of wax every month to not look like that anymore.
Behold, the piece de resistance:
Short! Fluffy! Parted bangs! There is nothing not horrifying here. And now you know why, unlike Zac Efron and Matthew Perry, I should never be seventeen again.