As I looked into the mirror today one last time, I proceeded to cut my own hair. I used scissors. I used a pink comb that I found in the bottom of a drawer. Prior to my self-haircut, I actually had what was the beginning of dude-bangs. Thanks again Ruby. As I watched the hair fall, it took me back to a moment in my life where I had to have looked like an escaped mental patient.
It was back in Virginia. One hot summer day, I decided that my hair was getting too long. Being alone at the time and not wanting to drive 45 minutes into town, I decided to cut my own hair. So, I grabbed the necessary tools — electric trimmers, extension cord and a giant mirror. I was only wearing my boxer shorts as I stood out on the deck that balmy day. I positioned the mirror in a rocking chair and began to shave off piles of hair. The hair was clinging to my body. I was blindly shaving my head. I began to laugh at the atrocious clump of hair still clinging desperately to my scalp. It was then that it hit me — I looked like a sweaty-toothed madman. There I was, covered in my own hair, trimmers in hand, laughing hysterically as I looked into a mirror…while wearing only boxer shorts. Despite my revelation, I finished the job, got showered and then immediately made an appointment to have my haircut for real the next day.
Today, I didn’t feel as crazy — I was wearing pants.