"I have a confession," I say, the second I sit in her chair.

"Okay..."

"See, I trimmed my own bangs. And totally screwed them up."

"It's not so bad," she begins, until I spread my bangs, which I've swept to the side, across my forehead to reveal the damage.

She gasps. Other people turn to see why she has made such a horrified noise. And then she starts to laugh.

"I know, right? It's TERRIBLE! I just...I tried to cut them fancy like you do, and this is what happened! You make it look so easy, but clearly there is true skill involved."

She's still laughing. The kind that involves bending over at the waist and sucking in air between guffaws. People turn to look again.

"I kept thinking I could fix it, and so I kept cutting," I explain.

"Oh, honey, that's the worst thing you can do."

"Yeah. I get that now."

She inspects the carnage more closely. "What's this one really long piece at the side?"

"Oh, well that strand somehow evaded the snipping. Which was fortunate, because I've been pulling it over here to hide the rest. A bang combover, if you will."

She starts laughing again.

"I thought about calling you for an appointment after I did this, but I figured there wouldn't be much you could do to fix it."

"No, I couldn't have done anything. Except laugh."

"Yeah, and my husband already had that covered."