I (unsuccesfully) cut my boyfriend’s hair on Saturday, and by the time he went to get it fixed by a professional, there was very little she could do to mask the damage. This picture closely resembles his new coif.
In sum, I’m dating a member of the Hitler Youth. But, it’s an upgrade from his previous silent-film-villain guise (I’m talking parted hair + a handlebar mustache). At least now there’s no fear that he’ll rub his hands together in malovent glee before strapping me to a railroad.
