Me, Myself and My Bad Fringe Cut

We all have the occasional bad hair day, maybe even a bad hair week. But it doesn't really help when your mother cuts your fringe too short the night before you go back to school. I almost stayed home. Feeling ashamed and disheartened, considering my own sister laughed at me...
But after 24 hours of being with my fringe I've learned to love it and it's freakishly short ways. I mean, why should I care what Michelle thinks? ... Uh I dunno, maybe because I idolise her or something ... But that's beside the point.
I thought about it and decided that the positives of having an abnormally dwarfish fringe are: 1. It won't get trapped in a cabinet door when a robber is locking you in there. 2. I can actually SEE now. As apposed to wondering why there is some kind of weeping willow hovering over me every time I look up. 3. It's a time of my life I can treasure forever. 4. Nah. I've got nothing else. Shut up about the negatives. I don't care. :)
So, Kudos to those with bad hair cuts. Wear your strange and outlandish hairdo's and styles wherever you go, and wear it with a skip in your step and a packet of pop rocks in your hand (because everyone loves poprocks) and don't feel ashamed because there is most definitely someone with a worse hair cut than you.
(And for those who are pondering that concept further, if you're wondering who the person with the worst hair cut is, he's probably trapped in some kind of box knitted out of peruvian alpaca wool. And for those who are now thinking something along the lines of "You sexist bitch!" just face it, the person with the worst haircut in the world probably is a man. Or atleast I like to imagine anyway. And if you're still pondering something that this post has triggered in your noggin, then go ponder the earth somewhere else.)

lots of love,
fran
xx