I got a haircut on Wednesday for the first time since last summer.
I took off 2 inches which really only means it looks exactly the same. And as I said on Instagram, my forehead is still too big to fit in the frame. Or as Jen pointed out, maybe my arms are too short.
You can see my giant forehead in its entirety here. Maybe take a look at your reflection and pluck your eyebrows while you’re staring into it.
I had bangs most of my life because I hated my giant forehead so much. In middle school there was this kid who rode my bus that my friends nicknamed Forehead because A) he was a jerk, B) he had a big forehead, and C) they were very uncreative people.
I couldn’t stand the kid but also couldn’t make fun of him for that. One day my friends took like 30 sheets of copy paper, drew his face on one, and stretched his forehead the entire length of the sheets. Then they taped it to the top of the bus and the kid started crying. I was like hey ASSHOLES, my forehead is probably bigger than his, shut up. They checked to see whose forehead was more fingers tall, and I won (6 fingers). Move over, Tyra.
Anyway, I think of how much I hated it as a kid and it’s funny because I used to tell myself that one day I would stop caring about something as trivial as the top of my face. It’s true. As a matter of fact, one of the first conversations Josh and I had when we met was about who has a bigger forehead (he doesn’t understand that his receding hairline doesn’t count).
That got us to thinking about a TV show we could start called Forehead Wars, where people with giant foreheads sign up and advertisers bid for the biggest space. The highest bidder gets to slap an ad on there for 30 days.
I could be a millionaire by now.