There are no words in the dictionary poetic enough to describe the resentment and hatred I feel towards the woman who cut my hair.

Hair is a temporary thing, I understand. It'll grow back, and eventually look nice again. But my haircut blows, the way things currently stand, and it is really frustrating. Like, really.

I went in for a haircut, expecting to come back out of Mastercuts with a lighter head and a fresh outlook on those little tubes we call our hair. What I ended up coming out with was a grudge held against that terrible foreign woman who can't cut hair and against that large mole she sports on her face.

Not once, while describing what I was hoping my hair would be like, did I say the words, "I'd really like to look like a child molester...I think it'd be a real treat!" That look just really isn't my thing. I don't think it fits my personality.

Most of me wants to say that it's really not a big deal, and it's really not worth getting upset about. A lot of me really feels that way. But this other portion of me that strives to look clean and attractive and fit really thinks it would be a gift to society if this woman found some kind of large inheritance and never, ever, ever have to cut hair again.

So here's to the foreign woman in Mastercuts who fails at her job, may she live long and never have to pick up a pair of scissors again.