Hair Cuts

Today found me standing in front of the mirror with a pair of scissors. I find myself standing in essentially this same place every six weeks or so. At this point you may be wondering why I don't just take myself down to Super Cuts or some other hair cutting establishment. Seems like subjecting myself to the agonies of cutting my own hair could easily be avoided. Herein lies the problem. Going to the hairdresser is worse in my mind than hacking away at my hair myself. Daft, I know.

In thinking about it, I've concluded that my dislike of going to the hair dresser really boils down to two things. The first is that I get uncomfortable. I am always uneasy in new situations, and as we don't usually live anywhere for any length of time, I don't have a tried and true beautician to visit. The second reason I don't like it is that I have to sit there for 30 minutes or more looking at myself in the mirror. Now, you might think that I have to look at myself when I cut my own hair, but not really. I just look at my hair.

I cut everyone else's hair in the family. Maybe I just need to train one of them to cut mine. Although cutting my hair is probably the only exercise my arms get these days.