I got the clippers out this evening and cut all my hair off again. It was approaching “toilet brush” levels of sticky-uppiness, so I thought I should do something about it. Given that it’s been raining for the last twenty eight years, I stripped off to the waist, and leaned through the shower door to complete the job – running the clippers endlessly through my hair in the blind hope of cutting it somewhere near evenly.
My other half told me it looked ok. I don’t know if to trust her or not. Thinking about it, my youngest daughter didn’t explode in laughter, so it must be somewhere near sensible.
After cutting my hair, I clippered my eyebrows too. It turns out eyebrows are a pretty good indicator of actually how old somebody really is. There’s some sort of genetic switch in men that turns eyebrows from “fairly neat and tidy” into “wild and ridiculous” at some point between 40 and 50 years old.
Most people have no idea I’m nearly 48. They see the skinhead idiot in selfies and somehow think I’m 10 years younger. I imagine if they spent any time with me, they would realise this level of cynicism can only be formed over many decades.
I appear to have gotten away with the whole caffeine detox/headache thing. My head has been clear all day – and I’ve been nowhere near as tired as yesterday. Perhaps I’m genetically pre-disposed to be able to deal with dropping things out of my diet without my brain having a melt-down about it.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a book waiting to be read.