Sometime last October or November I decided to let my hair grow for the first time since I was about 12 or 13, I think. Of course, back then, being "clean cut" was more a function of dad’s preferences than my own; but it was what it was. Then I was in a private school that required it, then Navy ROTC in college, and then the Navy. Paradise lost. Or so I thought.
So I never had the chance to be a "long hair." Well, you can have it, I say. Wearing it was fine, I guess, once my head adjusted to the added insulation and stopped its sweating 24/7 (damp pillows really suck). My wife liked the look, so that’s something. But how in the hell to contend with the pain in the ass that is washing it? Jesus Christ on a banana peel: tangles galore, unless you "condition" — like a woman — and if you do that, then it feels greasy-like within a day. Yech! Then there’s the wet-head look for an hour; unless of course you want to blow dry (again, like a girl).
So here was the before and after scene last weekend at the fed-up point (notice barber shop in background).
Ah. Now that’s much better.