A Day In The Life Of Someone With Bangs
I may look mysterious, but, truthfully, I’m miserable.
7 am: I wake up and stare out the window — a windy winter’s day — my nemesis. A pit of dread fills my stomach knowing what trials my fringe will endure.
7:05 am: I head to the sink basin and wash my fringe for the first time today. Shampoo streams into my eyes as I angle my head underneath the faucet. I hit my forehead hard on the sharp end of the tap. It’ll bruise, but at least my fringe will cover it up.
7:10 am: I spend five minutes on the blowout — a real touch-and-go moment where my handiwork could land me looking like Bridgette Bardot or Jim Carrey à la Dumb and Dumber.
7:15 am: I get dressed, wanting to wear a turtle neck but knowing it will ruin my tresses opt for a cardigan and a scarf instead.
7:45 am: En route to the office, I walk backwards against the direction of the wind, taking out a cyclist and postman in my effort to save my blowout, to no avail. A waste of effort and human life.
8:10 am: I run into the office toilets and fix my fringe with pocket straighteners since the wind has arranged it at a forty-five-degree angle across my forehead.
8:15 am: I sit at my desk and contemplate what my life would be like if I grew…
