The first time I cut my hair I really messed it up. I whacked-off my bangs until there were hardly any left. I cunningly blamed it on the little girl downstairs (I hope she has forgiven me still … although I’ll never ever know for certain), and lied to my parents while wearing a straight face. I was five at the time and I knew better. It didn’t take my intelligent parents long to investigate all the facts and they made me apologize to the neighbor’s daughter. Inwardly I shrugged my small shoulders and hoped I wouldn’t get my bum soundly spanked. Picture if you will, the shortest bangs ever and that was the way I appeared until they grew out. It took a few weeks before I was back to my normal style.
Cousin Bobby came to visit from Richmond, VA. Her birthday was two days after Mothers. They told me she was only going to be twelve but she appeared much older. Her birthday was on Leap Day, February 29th. I always got a kick out of this fact and although she died but a few years later, quite suddenly from a heart-attack, I remember her for the haircut she and my Mother gave me. They washed my hair as I bent over the kitchen sink. Then they placed a serving bowl over my head and cut my hair hanging beneath the bottom edge of the bowl. My pitiful cries could be heard with little echoes from within the huge bowl, which made them sound a bit hollow. This hairstyle took much longer to grow out than the bangs I had cut myself.
I have taken to wearing a pony-tail since it keeps my hair out of my face. I keep threatening to cut is very short but instead, I whack six to eight inches off of the end of my pony-tail. I feels better and I wonder if I’ll keep doing this until it is short again. Who knows? Do you ever cut your own hair?