So I'm sitting here with my daughter the other morning and she says, "Your hair is really getting long!" Like I don't know this. I've already had one no-spot-available and had to cancel two scheduled appointments for a cut. Not that I don't like my hair on the longer side. I don't get the whole close-cropped buzz cut thing-- never have. I gave that look up when I hit double digits.
Not that I'm interested in going the other way. I still see the occasional grey-haired guy with a ponytail and I really want to just say: Really? As overused as that exclamation has become in contemporary use, I'd like to say it to that guy with the long grey ponytail. Then again, what business is it of mine?
I'm old enough-- j u s t b a r e l y-- to remember when the Beatles began to spread their corruptive influence on the hair fashion of male American youth. I'm old enough-- j u s t b a r e l y-- to remember older relatives speaking in disgust about hair that was peeking over the tops of ears, sideburns that were descending to the level of earlobes. Outrageous!!
Anyway, 10:30 Saturday morning-- the lord was willing and the creek didn't rise-- I was able to bring some law and order to this mop. No more homage to celebrities past and present. As ever, it is, once again, all about ME. An orderly mop.
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