Of all the fucked up things I’ve done after a few drinks, cutting my own hair has got to be up there. You would have thought I would have learned my lesson when Claire cut it for me when we were 18 (she did a very good job incidentally, somewhat of a perfectionist, even after a bottle of vodka).
But now I’m 34 and that shit’s ridiculous. I’ve let my hair grow longer than I’ve probably ever had it and yes, I was thinking about getting it chopped off a bit but why I decided a) I should do it myself and b) with a blunt pair of kitchen scissors last night at 3am I will never know.
Don’t get me wrong, it looks fine. I don’t look like a scarecrow or anything (hell, I even tried to put layers in) it’s just that 1. I miss my long, long hair and 2. How on God’s green earth am I ever going to explain this to my next hairdresser who will know exactly what I have done?
I’m 34. Aside from the $3000+ outstanding bills I have this month, realistically, I can pay to get my hair cut. Why would I do such a thing? I have long known that when I’m deep into my cups I have a tendency to be impulsive, a little wild and entirely ridiculous but last night I clearly surpassed myself.
However on the plus side: I would have gone home for Christmas and my mother would have told me she liked it shorter, I won’t look like a wildling or the Wreck of the Hesperus when I get up in the morning and technically I’ve saved myself $150.
I’m not going into the minuses. I am clearly an idiot.