when it disappears

So I had a haircut on Thursday. Now to any mere mortal this might not seem like much of a development, and it wouldn’t be, if not for the fact that the last time I stepped into a hairdressers with the intent of having someone approach my head with pointy objects was in January of 2000, some five and a bit years ago. As a result, my hair now looks an awful lot neater, but tragically is quite a bit shorter. As is the hairdresser way, it is established with the hairdressee how much it’s alright to cut off, then confirmed by showing them a length of hair and checking that “this much” is correct. This measurement is then thrown out the proverbial window and the woman with the black and purple highlights goes to town on your head, leatherface style. It isn’t actually all that bad, and I was expecting as much from them (my experience with hairdressers having always been of this ilk), but at the end of the day, my hair is now probably about a full foot shorter than it was beforehand, leaving it a few inches below my shoulderblades instead of past my belt.

I’ve had some terribly shocked reactions from people, but it’s not that big a deal. It’s not like I’ve got a shortage of hair anyhow, and it’ll grow back more, as hair does tend to do. It is a lot easier to deal with though in its slightly shorter state, and I’m getting used to not having to embark in a battle to the death every morning to get the thing tied down. So if all goes well, the hair hasn’t taken great offence to the new development either, and won’t try to choke the life from me during my sleep in retribution. However I have laid contingencies by hiding its passport and documents in an elaborate maze of catacombs, so if it becomes a fugitive from justice, it can only run so far. There aren’t many places for a foot and a half of red hair to hide out in this county. It’ll only be a matter of time…

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