There comes a point when inefficiency must end

And for me, when it gets to the point that I am in public looking like this:


(meaning: hair coiled into a "bun" and a scrunchie slapped around it)

It becomes time to sit down, restructure, and cut some losses:


So that something can operate more efficiently:



And yes, the current cut is shorter than last year's de-maning of sorts


And the DevilDog....
He's really not happy with me for a few things today. Most notably this:



But I have to argue, if the girl is smiling THIS much because of something as simple as a haircut of her own choosing,

How can I deny her the joy, that included a dance in front of the mirrored column?

Seriously the girl got up in the chair, put her finger where she wanted her hair to be and said "I want it here, but keep this (pointing to the face-framing layers mom installed last year) because I like that part." It was only about 3 or 4 inches she wanted gone, which was all split ends anyway.
LaNae, the manager at the Hair Cuttery, said "OK, so I have my marching orders mom, and apparently that's all there is to it"
I happen to think LaNae absolutely ROCKS, because as rarely as I am able to visit her chair, she never fails to make me look better than when I walked in the door. And she helped make my clone smile THAT much with her first "official" haircut not performed by mom.
DevilDog came home from work, started making small talk asking what we did today. I waited for him to notice the hair 6 or 8 inches shorter...and in the middle of a sentence he said "HEY! you got your hair cut!" Then got no specifics from me when interrogated about Clone's hair. I told him she wanted it that way. I commented that he wasn't mad about my hair and that was met with something affirming the fact that I'm a grown woman with my own mind and ability to choose my hair style. He grunted something about Clone's hair not meeting with approval, him taking care of her hair till she was 16, and some other stuff that quite honestly, I didn't hear over my own cackling at him. He was so disturbed by this, it apparently required beer. He's not really talking to me at the moment. But that's ok. I'm incredibly bemused by his disturbance, and just typing this blog post is an exercise in stifling my laughter.