Bang! Bang! You're Um. Well, Uh...

Did you get a perm? asked my co-worker D as we shared a smoke break together.

D, I have wavy hair. Why on earth would I need a perm?

Your hair looks different. Did you pull it back differently?

I sighed. Yes, my hair was different. The night before, bored by the latest episode of Top Chef, I reached for a pair of sharps and did something a little unorthodox. I cut my own hair. Into bangs.

Not that I haven't had them before, I've actually done this several times in the past and sort of knew what I was doing. And each time in the past I've been delighted with the results.

Today, I can't really tell. From what I can observe, they have the potential to be rather cute (one part Bette Page equal parts French school girl or Jewish Audrey Hepburn). But for now, they need professional help. Rather choppy and uneven, they could probably benefit from being shaped or trimmed by somebody with better perspective, who knows what they're doing.

Problem is, I sort of dread walking into a salon and explaining what I need. I dread the lecture from the know-it-all stylist about the dangers of waves and bangs. But I know they have some major potential, especially in their ability to emphasize my already rockin' green eyes.

And since my personal style is already a bit funky, and I know that I'm a cute girl, I can rock their imperfections as if I meant for them to be that way.

I can't imagine how I ever bleached my own hair (yes, bleached. I was blond in college. My natural color is a very dark brown).

So, uh...anyone know a very forgiving stylist who works on short notice?