The boss of me

Saturday afternoon I peeled myself out of bed in time for my long-awaited appointment with V., the best hair stylist EVER. Since she is the nicest person around, as well as being the best cut/colorist that I've run into, she was supportive about my finally getting bangs and was able to turn my vague instructions ("make it edgier") into something that exactly matched what I'd envisioned. [Sidenote though: she is the only stylist where I've felt safe going in sans pictures. Otherwise, follow the magazines' advice and always always ALWAYS bring pictures of what you want.]

The only thing is that I'm not used to working with bangs, as the last time I had them was during the Reagan era and I used to torture them into the puff that for some reason was popular at the time. V. told me I need to train the bangs to lie flat, and I cockily told her that I would show them who's the boss in no time. Um, that may have been premature. The damn things keep fluffing up. For inanimate objects, they are showing far too much independent spirit for my liking. Time for more pomade.