I kept telling myself that I could cut it anytime. I didn’t need to keep growing my hair out… I was in control… I could stop it whenever I wanted. At the beginning, I think this was true. If you remember, I told you all in a previous post about the stages of hair growth through which we had come. First, laziness, then coolness, self-expression, and, finally, morbid curiosity. But that wasn’t the end, no… you might say that was just the beginning. My hair, let’s call it the Boss, began to take on a life of his own, and my attachment to the Boss began to grow. The Boss kept my ears warm when I went outside; he made me look taller; he was always the life of the party… I began to love the Boss very much. Look at how happy we were together:
Until one day I realized that my emotional involvement with the Boss had started taking its toll. I didn’t realize where all the money was going until I looked at how many bottles of shampoo we were buying just to satisfy the Boss’ needs. The Boss was slowing me down on my bike as he frolicked in the Cambridge wind. And the Boss was even getting in the way of me and Candice; literally, I couldn’t even get close to Candice for fear that she would get mauled by the Boss.
It was time to stop the insanity… I mustered all my will power, got my electric clippers, plugged them in, turned them on… and the most awful sound came from the clippers. They had been sabotaged; they would no longer work. Had I underestimated the shear (pun intended) cunning of the Boss? Was it a sign; an omen?
As painful as it was… it had to be done. We got new clippers, Candice gave me a sedative, and…
Notice the cool look of shear satisfaction on Candice’s face (pun intended again). She stopped in the middle so I could have a break, rocking out with a mohawk :)
Oh how the mighty have fallen. This is me post-haircut… Candice and I went to visit a nice country farm with some shops and a tea room. It was nice for it to be just us again, without the Boss.