It's my party...
And I’ll cry if I want to.
I don’t think I ever really understood that song until the eve of my 18th birthday. Before then the only tears I’d seen on a birthday were my sister’s…and she was only six-years-old so I think we can forgive her.
Let me set the scene. I was 17 and growing out my so-last-season short hair, which had been a success considering all the Posh Spice comparisons (it wasn’t a bad thing back then), but highly unsuccessful based on the numerous times I got mistaken for an adolescent boy.
So, as fellow grower-outers will understand, I was a tad overexcited that my hair had finally reached chin length. As my birthday approached, off I trotted to a well-known highstreet hairdresser for a quick trim before the big celebrations.
Warning: what happened next is all a bit of a daze.
I distinctly remember asking for a T-R-I-M. I don’t believe I could’ve made it any clearer but somewhere along the lines a massive miscommunication occurred. A razor (yes razor, as in, what they cut boys hair with) was brought out and copious amounts of hair fell to the ground. Needless to say, tears (plus a few sobs for good measure) followed.
Trust me, you would cry too if it happened to you.
Looking on the bright side, a valuable lesson was learned. I never, ever mess with my classic look (winged eye, poker straight hair and matte pink lip) for a big day. It’s just not worth the effort.
I have 364 other days to experiment, be wild and stay in my house if it all goes horribly wrong. That’s why on Wednesday this week (beautyheaven’s official 1st birthday) I kept it classic. But the rest of the week has passed by in a blur of orange lips, yellow nails, hair up, down, left, right, tucked under and a multitude of different bronzers.
What’s your fail-safe look?
p.s. Big congrats to Elmo for the winning comment on yesterday's Ed's update.