It wasn’t like Janae hadn’t thought this through……she hadn’t thought it through. The idea had struck her about twenty minutes ago when she caught her reflection and decided her hair was the reason for all her problems. Solution? Cut it, of course!

Janae was perched on the edge of the grimy sink, a towel draped over her shoulders working away at her hair. She knew she shouldn’t be doing what she’s doing (mostly because you’d mourn over the gorgeous fro she once had) but alas too stubborn to stop.

Snip. A chunk of hair hit the floor. Another followed, then another and then came another. That’s when you walked in. And the look on your face? Priceless.

Janae froze, scissors mid-air, her hand twitching like a busted robot. For a second, she contemplated hiding the evidence, but then she realized her head now looked like a cross between a poodle and a shaved tennis ball. There was no saving this.

“Oh, hey,” she spoke as she stuffed the scissors into her pocket like you weren’t standing right there, appalled. You blinked. Once. Twice. She shifted her weight, hands shoved deep into her pockets now, like she could disappear into them if she just tried hard enough.

“Cut makes me look fine as fuck, right?”