My haircut post yesterday reminded me of other haircuts of my youth. I found haircuts traumatic my entire childhood. Actually, no – that’s not true. The pudding bowl haircuts my Dad used to give me (and all my siblings) didn’t really bother me. It was the professional haircuts in salons that used to do my head in. I used to cry for hours after every one. God I was weird. One time when I was about fourteen I refused to go to school the next day, I was so upset. Of course this meant I left it as long as possible between cuts, leading to such horrendous school portraits as the one I posted some months ago (when my fringe had wings).
I have long gaps between haircuts now but that’s more because I’m too cheap and disorganized.