Rob and Emily Raleigh

Ok, I'm just going to come right out and say it: I've got a backwards mullet. The party's in the front, ya'll!!

A stylist too convincing. A need for change that transcended all logic. The end result, a haircut gone wrong.

Here's how it all went down...

I had some money left on a salon gift card that Rob gave me for Valentine's Day, and I was hurtin' for a new 'do, so I made an appointment to make it happen.

So there I was relaxing in the salon waiting for the stylist to seat me in her chair of possibilities, thinking, "I'm just going to let her do whatever she wants because she is the artiste and I am her blank canvas of hair!" I had complete trust in her. After she introduced herself and explained a few options we could try, I was convinced that she knew what was best for me.

Every suggestion she threw at me I agreed with.
"Chin length?" Sure.
"Length in front to accentuate your cheek bones?" Yes.
"Lengthy bangs???" I beg you to tell me why not!

And away she went. It wasn't until she cut the bangs that I thought there might be a problem, but I was convinced she would style it just right. After a quick blow dry and few more snips I realized the bangs were ALL WRONG, and the way the hair in front fell around my face didn't seem quite right. My exact thoughts were, and I quote: 'Oh no. Oh No! OMG OMG OMG!!!!!!' The stylist fussed, and then fussed a bit more and was about to send me on my way when she nervously asked, "is there anything you'd like me to change quickly before you go...?" I know that she was secretly in her head completing her statement, '...like the way your bangs make you look like you should be driving a minivan full of 8 year old soccer players?' I ignorantly said, "No it's fine! I love it!" though secretly I was having a small cow. As I walked up to the front desk to pay I was thinking PLEASE NO ONE LOOK AT ME OR MY SUPERMOM HAIR.

When I got home I tried playing with it a little bit, but I still can't shake the images my hair conjures up. Think Victoria Beckham meets Helen Hunt and a soccer mom, and they make a baby called lazy backwards mullet.

I may be exaggerating. It's certainly not like the haircut my friend Jane* got a few years ago. She didn't even make it through the entire appointment before having a complete meltdown in front of the whole salon. It was for that cut I had coined the term backwards mullet. She probably still hates me for that.

Brad and Brandy's four-year-old could probably have done a better job, but in a few weeks my Helen Hunt/supermom bangs will grow out enough to lie flat against my face in a stringy exhausted mess, the Victoria Beckham "style" in the back will side more with my hair's natural kink than with hollywood, and the rest will be habitually tucked behind my ears so that there is no evidence of the party in the front.

*Some names have been changed