I’ve heard that getting off heroin is worse than getting off bangs. I’m not so sure. Has any researcher actually ever stolen the scissors from the homes of former heroin addicts? I don’t think so. I’m telling you, I’m in withdrawal. I’m miserable with anxiety. Why is my forehead so big? So white? So lined? I would never consider Botox in my forehead, because I’m less interested in looking good than I am in not feeling any pain, ever, for any reason. But it wasn’t an issue before, was it? No one could see my forehead under all those bangs.
When you have bangs, they do what God designed them to do: Hang limply, straight down, completely in tune with the force of gravity. Side-swept bangs have no respect for gravity. They twist and turn and generally look stupid. They hang in your eyes. I have to be able to read at the drop of a hat. I might only have enough time to read two lines while washing my hands. Maybe a paragraph while stirring something on the stove. Half a page waiting on the phone on hold. I can’t waste that time pushing my bangs out of my eyes!
This morning, I found myself reaching for the scissors. I controlled myself, this time. I hope I can remain strong. Everyone tells me to keep looking for that light at the end of the tunnel. One day, my bangs will sweep across my forehead, just grazing my eyebrow, and curve gracefully around my face (balancing out my enormous jaw). I will look fashionable, younger, more in tune with the trends. Until then, I have to control my shaking hand as it reaches for the handle of the kitchen junk drawer. Someone, hide the scissors!