Apr 22, 2020: Thirty-Three

Carole keeps saying, “If not now, when?” in relation to the fact that we have loads more time but also a lot less time, somehow. Which is just fricking weird.

She’s also decided, since she stumbled onto a walk she really enjoyed that she’s being driven by fate. For some reason. She’s probably going to start tie-dying everything and live in a yurt next. But anyway…

I needed a hair cut.

We found, having thought we’d thrown all the other clipper attachments out, a quarter-inch clipper attachment. I normally use a half inch.

But hey. Fate and all that.

So now I have stupidly short hair. When Carole started cutting it she, first of all, pulled a face. Which is incredibly reassuring for anyone having their hair cut – be it by a partner, a trained hair professional or that one time I had mine cut in the dark at a hairdressers by a man who could, for all I know, have been a tramp that broke in.

The second thing Carole did was say, “Well, I can definitely see a lot of scalp showing through…” which, again, isn’t something you want to hear. It’s like going to visit the doctor and them saying, “well, that is a lot of blood…” but offering no reassurance that everything will be okay.

You know what, you can see a lot of scalp.

This is true. My hair is thinning. I think this is why my dad always had his hair longer than was probably necessary. Not because of any sort of tacky comb over situation, but because it looked like a lot of hair. When my hair is longer it looks like I have a full head of it, when it’s cut short it looks like three saplings in a field.

Actually, in all honesty, it doesn’t look that much different to before. My head looks like a potato dipped in glue and then dabbed into some hair clippings still. Just shorter hair clippings that its used to.

And I’m fighting the urge to say, “hey, let’s just do it with no clipper guard on at all….”

Because that would be foolish…

But if not now, when?