Sunday, 19 August 2012

My drunk haircut. . .

So, last night was hanging out with the girls, and I got the urge to cut my hair. I randomly do this from time to time. In fact, I have been cutting my own hair for about two to three years now (yes, I know, frequently, it shows). I thought it would be fun to let my friends play with it this time instead, but they seemed nervous.

I apologize for the nasty morning after makeup. 

While they were busy laying down paper and trying to figure out how to go about it, I cheerfully took the scissors and began lobbing off about a foot of hair. This elicited noises of horror from behind me, which in itself was worth the whole thing. Added a second layer (with help), kinda trimmed the bangs, but not really, and this is what I got:

 The reaction of my friends as I casually cut off about two years growth of hair sort of got me thinking though: How much of that "a woman's hair is her glory" mentality are we carrying with us. What is this fear of losing something that will grow back, eventually? I guess I lost that instinct along the way somewhere. Maybe a few too many shitty salon haircuts at Ultracuts. Who knows?

For me, hair cutting is a lot like baking. If you mess it up, unless you totally burn it to a crisp, its still gonna taste sweet and relatively good, just might not look as pretty as you wanted. I think last nights attempt turned out fairly cute, despite jack daniels being involved. Its not a work of art, but at least its not a big tatty mess down my back anymore.

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