Halfway through I started to feel air on my scalp once more and with the renewed acquaintance of head and atmosphere, a new connection with the wisdom of the cosmos – what the fuck did I look like? An involuntary grin spread across my chops as I felt the total relief from the escape from looking-like-a-twat-and trying-to-justify-it-dom spread throughout my ravaged soul. However,as with any decision I make, my tiny mind made a token effort at turmoil. Part of me felt like the whole of the last follicularly-indulgant fifteen months was a complete pretence: an experiment with denial and manipulation of my self-image; but the rest was swinging between feeling smugly self congratulatory over the brave journey into the unknown I took despite the sniggers of little girls, and regretful that I hadn’t the balls to carry on. Still, whatever else I or others think, I can now say “shut it you slag” with conviction, and my eyes will be bloodshot from drink and lack of sleep rather than a Dougal fringe blowing in them thirty times a minute. I must leave you now, however, as I’ve just seen some dodgy lookin’ geezer marfin’ off in my manor. Oi! Shut it!
Time waits for no man and new hair can only mean new joy. I personally chopped my hair myself a little bit tonight and am delighting in my new slightly vulcanised appearance.