Bad Haircut was having another bad hair day. So bad in fact that Bad vowed to not leave the house. Happy that, thanks to summer, she wouldn’t have to go to school, she sat in the kitchen, moping over her coffee, listening to her mother insist she get out and enjoy the weather. Her older sister, Fabulous, the pretty one, did not help matters by bouncing through the kitchen at that moment, her always fabulous hair bouncing along with her.
“Why can’t you be more like your sister,” her mother intoned as Fabulous bounced out the door, on her way to rescue puppies, or whatever it was she was doing to beef up her college application.
“Because,” Bad said, drawing out the pause, “I’m not. Duh.” With that she left to watch TV.
The previous school year had been tolerable thanks to the goth/emo look she’d cultivated to give reason for her perpetually unruly hair, and while the look still worked for her, the culture that came with it did not. Sure, Bad was occasionally depressed (thanks to the hair), but she saw no reason to make a lifestyle out of it; she wasn’t about to cut herself. Plus, she didn’t like boys who wore black fingernail polish. Something had to give. Next year, she’d be a senior and clearly needed a new plan.
Surfing through the channels, she landed on VH1 in time to see Sinead O’Connor. “Mom,” she called out, smiling, “I need money for a haircut.”