Fig. A: Happy Susan
So this news comes to le blog just a LEEEEETLE late (two
months late to be exact), but still a big hoopla for me regardless:
Fig. B: Supplies!
I cut my hairs!
I had been in the process of getting sick of my long long
hair and how it was always constantly everywhere and also getting slightly
grossed out by the fact that hair from three-four-five years ago that had been
squeezed out through the hair follicles on my scalp from inside my body were still hanging intact from my head (gross,
right?), and debating whether or not to chop it off when along came…
Fig. C: The epitome of fine art
A bee.
This bee was the deciding factor of le decision to hack off
all my hair because this bee, whilst I was traipsing along a narrow wooded
pathway during a Saturday morning hike in the yonder foothills of redwood trees
in Northern California, proceeded to wander straight into the pile of hair roped into a bun on the top of my head
Fig. D: La la la look at me traipse
Naturally, when I felt something in my hair, I freaked out, and naturally, when the bee felt my giant fatty hands swatting in its general direction, it freaked out too.
Fig. E: Why yes, I’m fine, thank you, and you?
Chaos ensued, the bee stung my scalp, I started
screaming and pulling at my hair like a madman, and it took my dad a good three
minutes to dig through all the tangled bird’s nest of hair on my head in order
to locate, untangle, and rid my hair of the bee, then my scalp of its stinger.
If
you have never before had the misfortune of experiencing a bee sting on your scalp, just for reference, it feels not
unlike someone is using a concrete jackhammer drill both inside your scalp and
out for the better part of the day before dulling into a horrible migraine
headache for the rest. It causes you to hate your life, but especially it
causes you to hate your hair, that horrid black mess of spindly twine that just
mooches nutrients from your body through your scalp and does nothing useful but
to sit there stupidly and trap wild insects and cause copious amounts of pain and
turmoil.
Fig. F: The pain oh the pain
Immediately the following weekend, I plopped myself into a hair salon chair and
demanded that the hairdresser ruthlessly sever the lot it from my person
forever.