Know what's never, ever going to be a good idea? 3 a.m., self-administered haircuts. Cause even if that bad boy turns out okay, which, let's just acknowledge this now, is like finding bran flakes that taste of Cap'n Crunch, you still end up with the 4 a.m., after-hair-cut clean-up.
So, yeah, one would think that after mumble mumble years, I would have learned that despite what my brain keeps telling me, I should never touch a pair of scissors/razor blade after about, oh, midnight. I cut my own hair all the time, being too cheap to pay a salon at least 40 quid for what usually turns out to be about 5 minutes of work. Usually, the results are perfectly passable, sometimes even venturing into the territory of aesthetically pleasing. Sometimes, I have to wear a hat for a few weeks. But, ye cats and gods, I can not think of one time when I picked up the scissors after midnight and woke up the next day thinking, Boy OH BOY, that was a good idea.
Tonight's little foray hasn't changed that. I may have given myself a mohawk. And a concussion. How do you get a concussion from cutting your own hair? Well, it being 3 in the morning, you just happen to forget that turning the water off in the shower results in the shower head falling off the wall (because you live in a shared house where the landlord can't be arsed to come and fix a damn thing) and smacking yourself in the back of your recently shorn noggin because you are leaning over the taps.
Now I'm too scared to go to sleep just in case it actually is concussion. I feel all tingly and weird, which could be the result of seeing my new haircut in the mirror just now, or it could be because I'm bleeding in the brain meat. Guess I'll find out soon.
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