I get a haircut every 2 months or so. It's a necessity rather than a pleasure. It's something of an ordeal, your ears get burnt, your neck gets soaked, you have to try and think of witty things to say to the person you've never met before, but has the power to make you look like an absolute knob with one slip of the scissors. I'd like to interview the hairdresser before they get anywhere near me. 'Have you been drinking in the past 24 hours?' 'Do I remind you of an ex you'd rather forget and never got the chance to seek revenge on?' 'Have you ever actually done this before?' 'Are you coming down?'
Anyway, I had my hair cut yesterday, and guess what, I don't like it. I never like it. Why can't the bastards read my mind, or at least listen to what I say?
Looking back, there hasn't been a haircut I've been happy with for the past few years. Which brings me to the conclusion - it's my face I don't like.