Bye Bye Wedding Hair

Bells should have gone off. Sirens should have wailed. And I should have said maybe not when the platinum blond stylist suggested long layers and nice framing around the face. It's not like I haven't been in that chair before buying into the myth that layers are universally flattering and easy to maintain. But I didn't protest loud enough and I watched with growing panic as she hacked into my hair. She knew I was upset and said to come back if I still didn't like it in a week. I ran my fingers through it and thought there's not much else she can do. I tried to avoid looking at the floor where my much sought after long hair was now residing. The shortest of the "long layers" is a good 6 inches from where the hair ends. I'm not the kind of girl who can work magic with a blow dryer and round brush and I'm afraid the layers will look very choppy and rather shelf like. I cried all the way home and I'm still bawling. I know it's just hair, but I had really come to like it and I want it back. I only went in to get the ends cleaned up - 2 inches off the bottom max and maybe something fun with the bangs. I'm not sure how I ended up with this layered fucking mess on my head. And I can't stop crying.