Today is the day.
The day when my hair is beyond, needing cutting.
The telltale sign is always when the hair on my calf, links with the bottom of my hairline. We passed that weeks ago.
But today was the point where I ran my fingers through my hair, and it refused to come back down again.
Admittedly that might have had something to do with the presence of sweat. Having just swung a kettlebell between my legs. Like an apprentice tosser.
Though it was still clear for everyone to see. My hair is too long.
So I did what many people are doing right now. I went in to the bathroom to look for the clippers of yore! From a time ago, when I used to have a grade one all over. Last seen about 13 years ago.
As with everything lost in the bathroom, the clippers were found buried underneath an array of half empty bottles.
Half emptied on to the clippers. Rusting. Dead!
So the hair gets to live another day. Gets to grow out in a way that actually makes me look as if I have less hair than I do. The Status Quo Phenomenon.
Until, that is, I find another pair. To join the ranks of the folk I mocked. To finally give up the ghost on the thatch. And to come out of lockdown, with the locks I deserve.