Robin at Pensieve is hosting Fun Monday today. She challenged everyone to post a horrifically bad hair image of themselves… I was all excited to participate because I truly believe I have one of the worst, most hair offensive pictures ever.

My scanner, sadly, has decided to go on strike and refuses to communicate with my computer. I’m getting them into group therapy soon so they can work out their differences but in the mean time my verbal description will have to serve your imagination with the mental witches brew that will bubble in your brain once you’ve heard what kind of picture I speak of.

I was in the third grade. The third grade ought to be the year entitled, “The elementary school doldrums.” I remember third grade as the most boring year of school. Perhaps that is why I had the extra time on my hands to CHOP my bangs off. That’s right. This is something that you would normally imagine a three year old doing or first grader maybe. But a third grader? Someone who was about to turn 9 years old?

I was in my bathroom staring into the mirror and feeling a bit downcast about my overabundant bangs. You see, half of my head, in those days, was devoted to bangs. Perfectly straight, down to the eybrows, mom-cut-them bangs. Apparently they had grown somewhat bothersome. Apparently I felt needful of a wee bit of a trim.

Only trouble is, I did not ask my Mom to give me that trim. I went into the bathroom drawer, retrieved the enormous pair of metal, almost-pinking-shears, starting to rust around the edges, scissors. And. I. began. to. chop.

Well, that first conservative chop-chop looked just a little off kilter so I took another conservative whack at them. Nope. Still just a tad crooked. ((Chop-chop)) Hmm… A little more off the right. ((Chop-chop)) Still not right. ((Whack-whack)) I must have gone at it for at least 5 minutes. I had to keep trying after all, since with every chop there was no improvement. One of these times it would come out straight. It had to.

Well, this train of thought didn’t take me to a better part of town in the hair world. All it did was bring those lovely bangs from eyebrow length to approximately 1/2 short on one side and maybe 3/4 of an inch on the other side. And 1 inch on the right side of the middle and 2/3 of an inch on the left side of the middle and… well…. you are getting the picture. They were extremely jagged.

My mother must have noticed the long silence in the bathroom for only moments after the deed had been done and the hair had fallen whistfully to the floor there came a knock on the door and a, “Nancy? What are you doing in there?”

“Umm… nothing…”

“Come out right now.”


The door knob slowly turned, the door creaked open and I emerged with hands over my forehead thinking, “Mom will never notice or wonder why I am walking around with my hands over my head will she?”

My hands were summarily pried off of my scalp to reveal the butcher shop haircut that I had given myself. My mother, as you might guess, was nothing short of horrified. “What on earth did you do?!”

“Um. It was an accident. I was playing with the scissors (duh… this will not win you any points with your mother, in case you are wondering) like they were a rocket.” (I zoomed the invisible scissors in my hands around through the air, trying to physically make clear how playing with the scissors in a haphazard manner can accidentally lead to formerly straight bangs looking more like the San Andreas Fault.) “And they accidentally cut my bangs. And then I had to fix them.”

(She didn’t buy it of course.)

She attempted to really fix the horrible mess I’d made of myself but it was unfixable. They were massacred beyond any sort of repair job.

Well, my little haircutting escapade would, the next day, be forever documented as it just so happened to be school picture day. My mother had forgotten that it was such and had allowed me to not only return to school the poster girl for the Barber of Seville but also wearing a sundress. Over a turtle neck.

And did I mention that I was missing at least two teeth at the time?

Miracle of miracles though. I was still smiling in the picture. I wonder what the camera man could have possibly said to make me crack that smile?

14 thoughts on “Fun Monday! BAD HAIR

  1. I cannot WAIT to see that picture.Sadly – I have had the misfortune of my scissors becoming airplanes at my bangs recently – and I’m in my 30’s. So – we don’t really ever grow out of that phase.

  2. This is not a request, I am not asking…I AM DEMANDING! Mend the relationship between scanner and computer NOW and get that picture up pronto.In the meantime, you’ve done a lovely job of conjuring up a whole episode of “Cut That Hair!”. Nice job ;).

  3. That is funny! A pic would be great, and whenever your scanner and pc are talking again…pop it in a post for us. I felt the same way in third grade…but what was the deal with pictures ALWAYS being taken after recess! Hello?

  4. I think many children cut their own bangs. Hopefully, you only cut your hair that one time. My son did this on numerous occasions. You can see one of his famous cuts here Hair Cut.

  5. I agree! I gotta see this picture! If it makes you feel any better- I chopped my bangs off, down to the scalp in fifth grade. I should have been on the short bus! I told everyone my sisters did it in my sleep. I received much sympathy with having such horrible sisters!

  6. I’ve searched desperately for this picture because, believe it or not, I really want to find it! But it’s hiding. I guess it’s embarassed or something. I don’t blame it.And the scanner. OH! The SCANNER! Bah! It’s makin’ me mad and not cooperating at all. I’m thinking of dropping out the second storey window. But then I guess it might be extra mad at me then. Plus it belongs to our church technically… and I try not to throw their property out the second storey window ever.I’m not holdin’ out on purpose y’all just so you know!

  7. Just cut your bangs again, recreating the original style, take a picture, upload to the computer…problem solved!

  8. LOL Min! I could go that route… only… well, I don’t own a single turtleneck. Nor, do I own an elastic trunked sun dress… plus I’d have to get someone to knock out a tooth or two. Other than that… it would maybe work! ;^P

  9. That is to funny. I had a similar experience with scissors just before picture day also. And for whatever reason I was smiling in that picture also. Loved the post.

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