It's a long story, really. So I won't put in all the details.
I like a boy named Matt, who also happens to have the coolest hair imaginable, and is an absolute rock god. He's also an arrogant, shallow bastard, but I prefer not to spread that part too much.
A few weeks ago, he came to school wearing his jacket over his head. He looked me square in the face, then shifted to Kia, who was standing next to me looking at him oddly. "I got a bad haircut" is all he said and walked off. Soon he took off his jacket, under the persuasion of the band teacher and the uncooperativeness of his hair and a random ski cap.
It…wasn't poofy. It lost it's poof. It' Matt-ness. It was flat, straight. Not crimpy and curly like usual.
But, it's growing back, thank the lord. But it's growing back straight!! The horror! Well, kind of wavy, but still! Straight! Now he looks like a shaggy dog.
All in all, I need to learn to stop ranting, and I miss his hair. The quote was from a conversation with my dear friend Sarah, otherwise known as Sars, Banana, Electric Banana, or simply Fish.
But I prefer Sars, as her speech patterns are most definately a deadly, fast-spreading disease.
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