Of Cabbages and Kings

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.


About ohhellwhatthehell

I like gin, mittens and otters, not necessarily in that order. Here's some stuff I felt like writing down when I'm not chained to a desk writing other things for a living. Please use caution when using this site; there may be sweary words, cute animals and general bullshit. Don't say I didn't fucking warn you.
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