For those of you who know me, I like long hair. And by me, I mean Jon. Long hair is awesome. I think I might have a problem (but that’s beside the point). And not just on the ladies. I don’t know what it is, probably some repressed childhood something something I like to grow my hair long:
And to eat.
And eat . . .
And . . . eat weeds?
Anyway, the point is I like hair. And, as always, I’ve been letting my hair grow out since escaping the tyranny of Utah, because really it takes no effort on my part: hair does just what good collections of dead cells do: grow.
Now normally I would be in discussion with my family and the wife about how I need a haircut: “You look like a girl,” “Gee, Steph, I didn’t know you married a woman,” “You look like Charles Manson with that hair,” and other such delights. However, this time I’ve been dying. For some reason the hair is killing me. True story. So what do you do when you hair is too long?
Cut it. Cut every last strand. All 100,000 thousand of them. And put them in a pile so you can laugh at how you are about throw them all away:
HA! Gone. And now I look like this:
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Side note: my head is really cold . . .
