This post brought to you by Real Life

For various reasons, mostly migraine-related, I haven't had my haircut in probably over a year, but I went today and had 19 inches taken off. And my hair is still to my clavicle. I also had it flatironed (my hair is so thick and curly that it takes two hairdressers, one on each side of my head, to get it done in one appointment allotment) and now I can't stop touching my hair because it's so light and smooth and pretty. It looks like Natasha's Winter Soldier hair at the moment, until I wash it and it turns more into a wilder version of her Iron Man 2 hair. I'll be taking the 19 inches of hair in to be donated, but I do feel a little sorry for the person who gets it. I realize they'll be happy to have hair at all, but my hair is not the easiest to maintain.

And apparently my before and after hair will be on the salon's instagram because the enthusiastic 20-year-old who helped flatiron my hair basically treated me like a unicorn. Whenever I go into the salon, everyone wants to come by and touch my hair like it's made of magic. But it's actually just made of snarls and rage.