Snip!

I cut my hair today, because I’m finally growing it. If you’re a man, I guess that sentence didn’t make an ounce of sense. And I guess, also, if you are a man, you can do without reading on. This is girl talk at its finest…

Right. So I am finally growing it, after about three years of circling Indecision Central. Yes, I know a short crop is really cool. So please don’t remind me or I’ll be tempted to have it cut again. I just got really tired of the same old look, so here I am seven months into the sprouting process and I think I’ve finally reached the point of no return. I’ll actually go through with it this time.

But after seven months spent in the Hairdresser Free Zone, my locks could really do with a little help. Everyone knows that turning to a hairdresser at this crucial stage would be a serious mistake (what is it with hairdressers and inches, anyway?! If that’s one inch then, by their reckoning, I must be a midget), so I decided to have a go myself. Picture the scene: the bathroom mirror, a hand mirror placed –at an angle just so– on a bar stool straddling the sink, and me balancing on a folding chair, trying to get a clear view of what I was doing with my nail scissors. Yes, nail scissors. I wasn’t confident with the kitchen scissors, and cuticle scissors are way too small. I trimmed the back a little, which was getting too long not to be categorized as a mullet. So now I’m sporting a weird (or funky, depending on who’s looking) bob-like do. Not half bad, really. I wonder why I ever bothered with hairdressers to begin with…