That is Some Hair
[ABOVE] My head last weekend; [RIGHT] 2000 Mugshot; [BOTTOM RIGHT] 1998 Mugshot
I used to cut my own hair when I used to wear it really short — I’m talking buzzers and a military hairdo. And the numerous times I had dreadlocks I didn’t cut it at all. Since I’ve become dandier, I go to someone who is actually skilled at cutting hair. I’m a hardcore DIYer, but I know when I’m in over my head (no pun intended) and it’s time to go to a professional. Plus, being skilled in what I do, I like to support others who are skilled in what they do. I don’t like it when unskilled clients design their own materials, so why should I attempt to cut my own hair.
Without fail, the person cutting my hair always says something along the lines of “Wow, you’ve got some hair!” (Baldness is something I’ll never have to worry about.) Last night, was no different.
I was running around all day yesterday, trying to catch up on a long, overdue to-do list. Getting my hair pruned was on the list because I wanted to look my dandiest for this weekend. I kept getting sidetracked — I spent way too much time digging through junk — so I didn’t get to it until late last night. After trying a few joints, I was able to get squeezed in at the last minute.
The woman who cut my hair said the usual, “Wow, you’ve got some hair!” numerous times, along with, “This is going to be a challenge.” When she was finished (I just went for a trim, but there was huge pile of hair on the floor), I checked it out and I was satisfied. What’s odd is she was too. She told me how much fun and enjoyable it was to cut my hair. She gave me her card and told me to come back.