I ran out of conditioner for my hair. With my hair dripping wet, I got out of the shower, took a quick look in the mirror at my hair, decided it would be impossible to comb out. I had to be somewhere in 30 minutes, so I grabbed some scissors, walked over to my husband, and said, "Cut my hair. Hurry."
I haven't cut my hair in two years. It was pretty long. Sometimes I had good hair days, but mostly bad hair days. I guess I got tired of it and lost respect for my mane. I drew an imaginary line for my husband to see where to cut right at the nape of the neck. "Are you sure?" he said. "Yes. Hurry, I have to go!" It didn't bother me one bit. It was sort of thrilling in a self-mutilation sort of way. I've heard of people who maim their bodies to vent their frustrations. I'd never do that, but I think I got a taste of the thrill as 8 inches of hair was hacked off my head. I loved it. I didn't look in the mirror until much later, but my husband did a great job. It took him 10 seconds and required no cosmetology skill whatsoever. I'm never going to pay $30+ at a salon ever again.
