the weekend before last I hacked away at my hair in the desperate way I sometimes do when something is wrong and I don't know what or how to fix it and so instead I make a mess atop my head. it was mushroomy and slightly off-kilter. about ear-length. the scissors were dull and the ends looked frayed. it couldn't stand. I sought professional help on saturday, and tipped heartily.
I used to be able to pull it off when I was a younger woman. hack:hackhack, and a few last snips & a-okay. maybe I'm getting old & fussy and I can't be satisfied with the ragged chops I used to give myself. but perhaps too my skills have withered. I have been out of practice.
the best-ever self-administered home haircut happened five years ago in a poorly lit bathroom in Alameda, executed with my jackknife scissors (the sharpest in the house at the time). the final product was messy and jaunty and full of spunk, and garnered compliments from unexpected sources. I think I have the haircut to thank for the public carnality that went down shortly after with a fellow junior paralegal on the embarcadero. the first and last time my rare regions met the grass at the end of clay street, thank you.
something about messy haircuts seems to make men stupid. I don't know what it is. the haircut then and this one now elicit a noteworthy increase in stupid man come-ons. on the street, in shops, wherever. it's not really so fun. I get these looks or stupid lines, and start to think about men and their leering and their desires to mess women up, and their apparent preference of the ones who are a little messed up already. if only on and not necessarily within the head. I find myself reaching in my bag to find a hat.