Giving Myself A Haircut

Without A Barber

I gave myself a haircut the other day. Giving myself a haircut is nothing new, but it never becomes very easy for me. I've never had any instruction, nor did I ever pay any especial attention when I was getting my hair cut by barbers or stylists. I suppose I could find a book or Internet site and learn something, but I haven't done it yet. I just start cutting and hacking. I am always expecting to totally screw it up, but that never happens. I don't claim that it looks that good every time, but nobody remarks about it, so I assume that it's passable. Or ignorable, at least! Some people may think that I have a bad barber, but they don't even say that. I think it's mainly that people don't pay that much attention to one another. Strangers don't look at you very carefully if they're not falling in love with you and certainly your familiars pay almost no attention at all to details. Your details are all too familiar to them. Maybe someone is always telling you how good or bad you look, but I guess I have it tuned out if anyone's been saying it to me.

Casual And Sloppy

Because of this casual, if not sloppy, attitude of mine, it takes quite some time for me to build up the nerve to get started on the shearing every single time. I don't cut my hair until it needs it very badly. When I begin to look like an impoverished spent-all-the-money-on-beer college student, that's when I finally get around to it. Though I used to like nothing better than to grow my hair long, these days it's just too much trouble and effort to live with long hair. Long hair needs a lot of care and feeding. So I am now reversed from how I used to be and I feel great when I finally overcome my laziness and cut my hair.

Oops, Slip, Snip, Slash!

In a week or so, however, I'll have grown used to the new length (shorth?) of my hair and I won't even notice it. I won't think much about it until it's "too damn long" again, which may be as long as two months from now. Even after all these years (close to ten), I have little sense of being adroit or practiced about the procedure and I continue to be amazed that I haven't cut an ear off or at least nicked one. It must be blind luck, for I foolishly often attempt these haircuts when I'm in a bad damn mood and/or in a hurry. I don't actually do it in a hurry—I still try to take my time, but it's a struggle. If you ever hear of a bloody mishap down here, please believe that I wasn't pulling a Vincent van Gogh—it was just my usual butterfingers and impatience.

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