Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Early last Saturday afternoon, I got my hair cut.

Under ordinary circumstances, this would hardly be earth-shattering news. There are slightly more important things going on right now--in the world (a couple of wars, a death-spiral economy, the first African-American president in the history of America) and in my own life (work, side projects, my cluttered apartment, Olivia).

It is, however, a matter worth noting. After all, I hadn't gotten my hair cut in nearly a year, and it had gotten as long as it had ever been (as seen in the photo above taken by Superbadfriend in her studio). Even the stylist at SuperCuts was somewhat taken aback by the vast pile of protein lying at my feet when she'd finished pruning the bush that was my head. "Your friends won't even recognize you!" she said.

To a certain degree, she was right. Mom, of course, knew me right off when I went to her house for dinner Saturday night ("My baby boy is back!" she enthused, having expressed much dislike with the length of my hair). When I walked into my place of employment Monday morning, though, nearly everyone did a double-take. The reactions of those who'd worked with me for a while were less extreme than of those who've known me for under a year, but everyone had a comment. They all loved the new 'do--my stylist did an outstanding job--and even some of the substantially adorable women in the office voiced their approval. (Not that such notice means anything, but it's still nice to hear.)

Why, you might ask, did I cut it at all? Because I'd grown weary of it blowing into my eyes on windy days and sneaking into my mouth when eating. It's one thing to have a hair in your food--anyone who'd owned a cat or dog for any length of time becomes accustomed to such things--but it's quite another to realize that the hair you're chewing on is still attached to your head.

Besides, I can always grow it again if I want to. It's nice to have options.