Sunday, April 18, 2010
I got a haircut today. I donated eight inches of hair to Locks of Love. The girl sat me in the chair, pulled my hair back into a tail and said, “Oh, look. I can take a good eight inches!” and I wanted so badly to make a terrible and hilarious comment, but I didn’t want to get stabbed in the face with the scissors. There was also a part of me that was scared that she might call my bluff, and then she’d discover that I didn’t have eight inches to give. Beyond all of that, I wanted to be able to come back and get another haircut in two years. So I didn’t say anything. She took eight inches of hair, and I’ve still got sufficient length to wear the remainder in a ponytail. It’s convenient that way. I don’t have time in my life for high maintenance hairstyles, or anything that will require a haircut more often that once every two years. I donate my hair, not because I’m nice, but because it’s a free haircut once every two years. This is the second time I’ve donated my hair. It’s always a remarkable feeling, getting all that hair removed. It’s a relief, kind of like a big bowel movement. It feels good, and for a while it allows me to believe that I don’t look like a caveman.