This morning, when I woke up, I looked something like this.
Our daughter is a hairdresser. But, since Sharon and I have been in self-isolation for over eight months now, including separation from family and friends, my hair has been growing unchecked. I had rock-and-roll hair for the first time since I was in my twenties. I let my beard grow for most of that time as well, until it annoyed me so much that I trimmed it down to a goatee again (actually, a Van Dyke, for the nitpickers out there). I own a semi-professional set of clippers that I bought just for that purpose.
These clippers, manufactured by Wahl, are what Sharon used on me this morning. She used the #4 clipper guard so that I would have some hair left.
You see, I’m getting too old for rock-and-roll hair. I can’t even pull it off as well as David Crosby in the video, although we have a similar situation going on at the top of our skulls. When you let your hair grow for eight months and you end up looking more like Ben Franklin than Sammy Hagar in his prime, it’s time to give it up.
My head feels better. Cooler. And I don’t have to look at it too often.
Now I look more like this.
Or, quite possibly, not.
In any case, I’m going to leave you with a couple of additional songs about haircuts.
My freak flag is once again furled, and I look like I’m ready to mingle with the squares again.
Cheers, everyone.
firewatersite 