The Time I Realized My Hairdresser Was Actually My High School Bully
I was in for an unforgettable hair appointment, and a lesson only time can teach
I was not a popular kid. It wasn’t common for me to have a following, a group, a clique. I ate lunch with my U.S History teacher, Mrs. Lutz.
Sad, but very true.
She was the ‘It Girl’
If ever there was a real-life replica of Regina George, Haley was it.
She had long, freshly bleached, and blown-out blonde hair.
She had the big blue eyes with perfectly lined, hand-crafted, super thick 2009 eyeliner that we all know and love.
She was decked out in Hollister from head to toe, smelled like a Victoria Secret model, and everyone worshipped her.
She ruled the hallway with her perfectly organized sparkled binders, Coach backpack, and last but never least, glitter-cheetah print Sperrys.
Her nails were flawless and pink, and her lip gloss was definitely poppin’.
Clad in a completely black wardrobe, I rolled into the hallways with 99-cent Wet N’ Wild eyeliner.
My auburn side-swept bangs were colored with Revlon color from Walmart.
My jeans, American Eagle as they were, came from the thrift store sale rack.
Think of Hilary Duff in ‘A Cinderella Story’, but with dark hair.
I wasn’t “poor”, per se, but I definitely came from a very middle-class family.
My mom worked as a debt collector and my dad, due to his heart condition, was on and off unemployment in between heart surgeries.
Ruthless by nature
This girl was mean as hell.
