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And then in a fit of panic and horror concerning everything about the way I look, am, and am existing at the moment, I accidentally tripped and fell on a very expensive pair of stylist's scissors, which cut a foot off my hair exactly the way I didn't want it.
I had pictures.
PICTURES.
Fuck this noise.
I had pictures.
PICTURES.
Fuck this noise.

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*hugs lots*
It'll grow back, at least? And the new cut might... I am trying to think of a less unfortunately punny phrase than "grow on you" and failing, but. That.