Fine Hair Choppy Bob Novels & Stories

I rolled my eyes. "If you truly loves you then your appearance won't matter." She smiled at me and nodded for me to continue. I slowly cut off her ponytail, Celestial covering her eyes almost the entire time. Her hair fell and framed her face, uneven in some areas. I continued to cut, being very careful to not mess up. When it was done her hair was almost like a pixie cut style but it didn't stay behind her ears and it was a bit longer than usual pixie cuts. Just a bit.

He didn't think her tan or blonde hair was natural, but not many people would know this. Bob had packed on some weight and he looked like a big, tired, lumberjack. His brown hair was cut short, almost in a military cut and Troy figured it hid the fact that he was balding on top. He was tall; well over six feet and had steel grey eyes, yet there was a look about him that clearly showed that he was jovial and an honestly nice guy. Bob's wife was a petite, dark haired woman who watched him curiously, perhaps trying to connect him to the selfish bastard that she'd likely heard about from her husband. Then there were the two and four year olds, and Lorie's three who watched him shyly, all exce

I felt guilty for making her nervous “no, it looks good! I love it.” Charlotte had chosen a medium bob, well that is what the hairdresser called it. Because of her straight hair it looked really edgy. The back was cut short just below her hairline and the front of her hair was just above the shoulders. It looked so cool, especially with the low lights. Charlotte looked into the mirror “I love it too. Really a lot. I look so different. I feel like myself even more now.” Amelia walked over to Charlotte “mama” and tried to touch her new hair.

she asked kindly. I didn’t even blink. “I want to bleach my hair. All of it. Cut it, too.” She raised a brow, a grin tugging at her lip. “You sure? You’ve got pretty hair.” “I don’t want pretty,” I said. “I want different.” An hour later, the woman in the mirror barely looked like me. My long, curly hair had been chopped into a blunt shoulder-length bob that made my neck look longer and drew every attention to my face. My dull black hair had been dyed strawberry blonde.

Just watched me, quiet and still, like he didn’t quite know how to respond to the version of me sitting here now. I wasn’t the woman who used to wait for him to come home. I wasn’t the one who used to believe his empty reassurances. My hair had been too time consuming to take care of anyways. There used to be five steps—oil, shampoo, conditioner, hair mask, leave-in treatment—and my hair used to fall to my waist in thick, heavy sheets. Roxy used to call it a “weapon” whenever I let it down. So when I chopped it all off a few weeks ago, I expected a reaction. Roxy had run her hands through the blunt bob like she was mourning a fallen comrade. Elle had frowned for two days straight. But me? I

she told the stylist, holding his gaze. "Cut it short—into a bob." The stylist blinked a little and then gave her head a quick, affirmative jerk. With each cutting movement the scissors made, with each inch that she lost, she felt lighter. She looked as each strand of her hair; thick and gorgeous, fell down the floor in a heap. It was a bold change. "Done... You look even prettier with short hair" the stylist complimented and Cassia offered a soft smile admiring how the chic bob framed her face perfectly.

He didn't pick the clothes; he just stood back and watched as I picked silk blazers and heels that felt like weapons. Then we went to a salon. The stylist looked at my blunt, dead hair and sighed. “We can’t make it long overnight,” she said. “Don't make it long,” Alexander said from the chair behind me. “Make it sharp. Make it look like it belongs to a woman who doesn't take orders.” When I looked in the mirror, I didn't see the ghost anymore. My hair was a sleek, angled bob that hit my jaw like a blade. My eyes looked darker, colder.

Whatever Alex's secret is, I can't see how he thinks that his family wouldn't support him; they seem so close-knit. The hairdresser mumbles behind me, saying that it looks like I have cut my hair myself, and I find myself blushing because that is exactly what I have been doing. When you don't have the money, monthly trips to get your hair cut aren't an option. I watch in alarm as the hairdresser chops into the back of my hair with ferocity, but he assures me it needs to be done to sort out the uneven layers. The front, however, he leaves long around my chin, all the while blending it into the back so that I now have an elegant angled bob that frames my face. A quick blow-dry later and I feel

She started with a new hair cut, which she said was my first real step to a noticeably difference in my appearance. She then tried a new color on my hair, which was something lighter than the usual dark hair. She dyed my black hair to a blonde colour and styled it into a preppy one with side- swept bangs and straight hair that I can eventually put up into a bun, or chignon.