2001-11-18 � haircut

Two weeks ago I would have told you I really needed a haircut. Usually, for the past few years anyway, I wear my hair in a tightly cropped ceasar. Close to the head and well above my ears and collar. That was before.

I've not had a haircut in four months. Four months and counting. It's grown quite shaggy. I have lots of thick hair on my head and it grows really rapidly. I look sort of like a Muppet now that you can no longer see my ears below my brown locks.

Yesterday, I had the most unusual experience of brushing the hair out of my eyes. I've not done that in years. The part of all this that amuses me, is that I no longer have any desire to cut it at all. I've sort of reached a "Beatle" stage with it and am anxious to see what happens next.

The boyfriend is horrified by this development in my usually ordered appearance. "You have to get it cut by Thanksgiving" he said. "You have to look nice for your family."

"My family love me whether I look nice or not" I replied. "Besides, I think I can pull off the caveman look pretty well."

I don't think Tom agrees.

When it first started to get a little long, I used to say things like, "I'm gonna get a haircut this weekend." I had no intention of getting a haircut that or any other weekend, I was just trying to fit in. It was a ploy. Now, I don't even bother. I just toss my hair like I'm in a shampoo commercial and anxiously await the moment I can put it in a tight little stunted pony tail.

"I'll cut it for you" Tom offered.

"Have you ever cut hair before?"

"No, but how hard can it be? You just go like this and snip a little then you get the next batch of hair and, same length, snip snip." He was demonstrating his technique on my head with phantom scisors. "I've seen it done hundreds of times. How hard can it be?"

I told him I'd allow him to use a Flowbe Precision Haircutting System on my tresses, but nothing else.

He's looking into obtaining a Flowbee.

Oh, I imagine he and the rest of my friends will probably have an intervention before too much longer. "We wanted you to know how your hair has affected us. We look better if we run with the less shaggy. You're embarassing us, and we want you to get help. We have a beautician on standby right now. We can have you all trimmed up in no time."

I'll respond with riteous indignation. "I can't believe you're turning on my like this. I can't believe it. I thought you guys were my friends. You're not. You're just judgers. You're judgers who are judging me. You judgers." And they'll deserve the sting of my insightful lashes. I imagine if I let it go long enough, it will probably redefine every relationship I have.

Well, I'm willing to take the chance. Test the bonds I've made. I am, after all, a slave to style. Nobody can take that from me. Nobody.

Posted at 7:35 p.m.

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