Welcome To My Bed

Death of "the Mullet".

All summer long, I refused haircuts flat-out. Because last September, I shaved my head. It has taken exactly a year for things to fix themselves. Not that I didn't love being bald, (it was absolutely wonderful) it's just difficult to enjoy a military-style haircut when it is several degrees below zero in the middle of a New England winter and your favorite wooly hat has gone mysteriously missing, never to be found again. Let's just say I wore a lot of wigs during that time.

Anyway, in my long and storied quest for long(er) hair again, I have run into the same problem in countless different incarnations, one that I can't avoid no matter how much I trim or style. The mullet. I suppose it is inevitable. Bad hairstyles happen to the best of us, and I never intended for it to end up this way the many times it did. But because of the shape of a human skull, the hair on the back of your head growing at the same rate as the hair on top, and other minute details that factor into such a tragedy, I have been guilty of unknowingly stepping out in some really awful fashion over the past six months or so, when my hair really started to exist again. Initially, I would just trim the back of my hair pretty routinely, in a desperate attempt to keep anything horrific from occurring. But somehow, it never helped for very long. Lately, I've just been wearing my hair up all the time, a ponit of great excitement for me, because I haven't had a ponytail in god knows how long. But it made me feel like I was hiding. So this morning, as I usually do during desperate times, I took matters into my own hands. Scissors, a little patience, and voila. No more mullet. I think I can confidently say that it's gone for good.

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It feels good to be out of the fashion "don't" category. Finally.