Hello my little witches, warlocks, ghosts, goblins, and anyone else who has ever made a questionable hair decision under the influence of peer pressure and Aqua Net. Gather ‘round the cauldron — it’s Confession Tuesday, and today’s tale is one of shame, horror, and bangs.

Let us travel back in time… many moons ago… to when I was a 7th grader. A tiny, impressionable woodland creature with zero common sense and even less hair knowledge. My naturally curly hair was basically a feral beast living on my head. I brushed it (a crime), teased it (a felony), and wore it in a giant poofball on top of my skull like a deranged Dr. Seuss character.

And the bangs. Oh, the bangs. I had a cowlick so powerful it could’ve been classified as a natural disaster. My bangs never laid flat — they just hovered there, confused, like they were trying to pick up satellite signals.

Back then, we didn’t have straighteners. We had blow dryers, curling irons, and enough Aqua Net to single‑handedly destroy the ozone layer. It was a dark time.

🎤 Enter Tammy: The Agent of Chaos

One day in choir class, I overheard a girl — let’s call her Tammy, because that was her name — bragging loudly to her friends. Now, I didn’t like Tammy. Tammy was mean. Tammy was dramatic. Tammy was the kind of girl who would absolutely push you off the swings and then tell the teacher you fell.

But there she was, proudly announcing that she had shaved her bangs off. Not trimmed. Not cut. Shaved. Them. Off.

And she was wearing one of those giant thick headbands to hide the bald spot, but her friends were hyping her up like she had invented hair.

And my 12‑year‑old brain said: “Wow. Genius. I should do that too.”

Because apparently I had the critical thinking skills of a potato.

🛁 The Bathroom of Bad Decisions

That night, I told my mom I was going to take a bath — which was code for “I’m about to ruin my life.” I pulled my hair back, grabbed scissors, and started chopping like Edward Scissorhands on a caffeine bender. No measuring. No evening things out. Just snip snip snip until my bangs were about the length of a regret.

Then I grabbed a razor. A razor. And I shaved my bangs clean off. Smooth. Bald. Shinier than a newborn baby’s butt.

The second I finished, I knew I had made a catastrophic mistake. I looked in the mirror and saw a 7th grader who had just joined the military against her will.

And then came the worst part: I had to walk out and show my mom. And my brother. My brother, who would absolutely roast me until the end of time.

😭 The Reveal

I covered my bald spot with my hand, opened the bathroom door, and walked into the kitchen like I was about to confess to murder.

“Mom… I think I made a mistake.”

I moved my hand.

My brother immediately fell to the floor laughing like a hyena. I immediately burst into tears. My mom immediately entered crisis‑management mode.

Because HOW was I supposed to go to school like this?? I looked like a peeled grape.

🧵 The Headband Era

My mom — my hero — rushed me to the store and bought every thick cloth headband known to mankind. Every color. Every pattern. Every style. I wore them for MONTHS. Through the rest of 7th grade. Through summer. Into 8th grade. Until my bangs finally grew back enough to look like… well, bangs.

And Tammy? Wherever you are, Tammy‑Whatever‑Your‑Last‑Name‑Was… Why did I listen to you? I didn’t even LIKE you. But there I was, shaving my bangs off like a disciple of the Church of Bad Ideas.

🎃 And that, my spooky little creatures, is today’s confession.

May it serve as a warning: Never trust a Tammy. Never trust 7th‑grade logic. And never — EVER — shave your bangs.