The above picture was taken approximately 8 months after the initial haircut. It was much shorter, and much worse at first. I have no photographic evidence of the original catastrophe, but just listen to the story...

It all started in fourth grade. It was Thursday afternoon. I had just gotten home from school, and knew my mother was taking me to get a haircut that evening. I was excited for my haircut. I always looked forward to haircuts. Nothing made me feel more special than that half hour of undivided attention from a professional hairdresser, whose only job for those thirty minutes was to make me look like a superstar.

Little did I know, my feelings about haircuts were about to change for the next seven years of my life. I know that this sounds a bit shallow, my fear wasn't born out of a life or death situation or an actually harmful experience. But just listen.

Everytime I went to get my haircut, I wanted a little change. Just something small to make me feel special and new, usually bangs, extra layers, or a couple inches off. But this fateful September afternoon, for whatever reason, I decided to go for a big cut. I have no valid way of describing why I chose my hair role model on this day, but for whatever reason the picture I showed my hairdresser was of television superstar, Carey Martin, the mother from a little show called The Suite Life of Zack and Cody.

I have spent years of my life trying to work through the reasoning I had come to that day when I asked for the haircut of a forty year old, divorced, tv mother. The best logic I can come up with was that my first love, Dylan Sprouse, loved Carey Martin, his mother in his show. I took that fact and came to the following course of action: cut my hair like Carey Martin, become a person who Zack Martin, and by connection Dylan Sprouse, would love. I know. I was but a child. It's not my fault.

My cut was just a bit longer than this version of Carey's hairzackandcodyforever on Instagram

After my thirty minutes of salon splendor that afternoon, to my surprise, the haircut did not look good. It was horrifying. I have no pictures to show of this dark era, because obviously, I wanted no evidence, but I'm sure you can imagine the debacle I had put myself in.

After the big cut, I spent the night crying in my room. I will give props to my hairdresser, she did the style very accurately, my hair did, in fact, look just like Carey Martin's. I would never speak ill-ly of the Tipton's star lounge singer's hair, but on a scrawny nine-year-old with an astoundingly round face, it was unappealing.

The next morning, Friday, I had no tears left to cry. I figured I needed to get myself together and work my new 'do. I put on my best red and white striped, collared, tight-ish fitting (I knew what I was doing;)) short-sleeved Polo shirt. I used my brother's Got2B Glued hair gel to form the tiny spikes on the tips of my hair just like Carey, and I was ready to go face the world and wear my new cut with confidence. And I did. For approximately 20 minutes, until I entered my classroom.

Now, I don't want to name any names, because I'm sure this person is completely different now and his awful, punk, make girls feel bad about themselves, fourth-grade personality is a thing of the past. So, we'll just call him Jacob Rogers.

As I walked into my homeroom, Jacob Rogers exclaimed from his desk, "Hey look! There's a new boy in the class!"

Turns out I did have tears left to cry. And they erupted immediately out of my shy, fourth-grade body as I turned on my heel and sprinted back out the door and into the bathroom. It was awful. My face was red the entire rest of the day as I wore my mom-cut with shame. Once I finally got to go home, I spent the entire weekend in my bed crying about the crime I had committed against myself.

I thought, for sure that I would never feel pretty again, destined to look like a mom for the rest of my days. I was desperate to have my long hair back, and I vowed to myself that I would never again cut my hair short. I spent the next seven years developing an unhealthy obsession with my hair, which ended abruptly during a spontaneous haircut in Europe...

Stay tuned...