Of all my bad habits, which are many and varied, including some that can not be printed in family newspapers such as this one and involve various bodily functions and small animals, along with some that merely involve me reading my own poetry out loud in public, the one that makes SOBUMD cringe the most, I believe, is my willingness to believe that I am capable of cutting, and competent to cut, my own hair.
And the sad part is that I would get it cut more often, but I can never remember to call my hairstylist at the right time. And the other sad part is that it wouldn’t really look all that bad, but I can neither reach nor see the back of my own head, so by the second month or so I’m sporting a mullet. And the last sad part is the yelling at I get when I finally remember to call Gloria (my aforementioned hairstylist) and she sees what I’ve done. “You did that yourself, didn’t you?”
Some people dread losing their hair – me, I can’t wait.
Until then, I need longer arms.