The worst thing about my haircut is that it is entirely my fault and not the fault of my wonderful stylist who had to deal with this request: “Well, I sort of want to cut it all off, but I also sort of want a lot of curl and volume.”
To continue the key party analogy, this is like if Barry and I knew we had to do something to spice up out love life and what I really wanted was either to have sex in a public place like maybe the A&P frozen foods aisle because it’s sort of set back and inconspicuous or buy a copy of the Kama Sutra, but instead I couldn’t decide and so when that cunt Midge Cafferty invited us over, I just said yes to avoid having to make a decision. I just figured we’d watch that Deep Throat movie Barry Michelson (not my Barry, another Barry) keeps talking about. When Barry (my Barry, not Barry Michelson) and I put our keys in the bowl, neither of us had any idea there’d be no going back.
