Patch
People of blogdom, I haven't had a haircut in over three months.
I do have a regular hairdresser; Luisa's Spanish, she talks a lot and offers me red wine, and we chat about Barcelona and her attempts at pregnancy and how much cost the Gaultier watch her husband got her; she's perfectly delightful, and bubbly, and seriously overenthusiastic. When she's done with me my hair is perfectly cut and in place, but because she is so enthusiastic and wants to give me value for money I invariably look like my little brother, aged 12. Too enthusiastic, so too neat, too goddamn short. I console myself with the thought that it'll be fine in two weeks' time after all, this stuff grows so fast, and put a hat on.
So over the past 90 days or so I have been hacking at my growing mop; a little snip here, a little snip there, nothing drastic, with those clever scissors that cut through hair, y'know? Fantastic. I love my girly hair. It's tickling my ears quite becomingly, I think.
But I am only postponing the inevitable, people of blogland. For there will be a time when I must go back. When the random snipping has taken its toll and I look like those brooms you use for reaching cobwebs. And then, what will I tell Luisa to explain the interesting gradations I've created? 'My mom did it'. Oh, how very grown up. I used that one when I was 19 and getting a telling off from the scary woman who tried to set right a colour gone really, really bad. I'm ashamed to this day. 'A friend begged me to be his guinea pig'. 'It was a dare and I lost.' 'Well, it's all you can do in the jungle, you know' might work, but can I pull it with a straight face? The real question is this :how can I get over this need for approval and just tell Luisa the truth, that against all expert advice I took my hair's fate into my own hands and hacked at it with reckless abandon? 'Luisa, I'm weaning myself off the need for approval, yours or anybody else's. Approval, approval, shmaproval. Soon I won't need it anymore. I'm so quitting; I'm on a patch right now, and next thing you know, the patch goes, and yes, goddamnit, I have been cutting my hair myself, without even a mirror, that's right, and even your dog's hair is better cut, and I look like shit, so please fix it. Please?'

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My lovely friend Zabelie got her birthday present. I think she is pleased: her first comment was - 'have you heard of fountain women? Well, I now know that I am one.'
Yay! I hope I get extra karma points for that.