The real circle of life.

A few weeks ago I cut my bangs. When most people say they cut their hair, they really mean they got someone else to cut it, but in my case, I mean what I say, that I cut it, leaned over my bathroom sink, hacking away with the pair of barber's scissors that someone was foolish enough to sell me.

Here's my problem-- I have had my hair cut by a lot of people, from every possible category of hairstylist -- men, women, gay, straight, cheap, expensive, talented, and not-so-much-talented. It has been cut by friends and strangers and relatives, and there is only one common thread; I am never happy.

Perhaps I should not say never. There have been a handful of times I have been satisfied with a haircut, and I usually get really excited and declare that I have found a great hairdresser and will never switch again, until I go back and they screw it up again. I often wonder if it is me: Am I somehow communicating wrong? Is my hair that crazy? Did the picture I show the hairdresser magically change between haircuts? Either way, of the hundreds of haircuts I have had, I can count on one hand the ones I liked, and to count the ones I didn't would take a room full of fingers. So, since I figure that if I go somewhere to get it cut I will end up fixing it later anyway, I have taken to cutting it myself.

Which brings us back to the story at hand. A few weeks ago I cut my bangs. They were PERFECT. They lay just right, they took virtually no work at all, and no matter how strong the wind, all I had to do when I got inside was shake them and sweep them to the side and they were perfect again. It's a darn shame that hair has to grow. The perfection lasted about 2 weeks, and then they started to get irritating again, and then they went from irritating to entirely too long to desperately needing to be cut again. Yesterday we were off school for snow (yay!), so I saw an opportunity to restore them to their previous perfection. I should have known it was too good to hope for.

I cut them again, and they are... not perfect. Not even close. In fact, they sort of look like a five year old cut them. I got a little overly enthusiastic, and they are too short. Instead of laying perfectly with no effort, it took me 10 minutes this morning to make them look vaguely human, and I may skip church on Sunday to save the humiliation of facing my friends.

Fortunately, and in an ironic twist, hair grows. In another week it will be fine, and in 2 weeks it will be approaching too long, and in a month you will find me once again leaned over my bathroom sink hacking away. Forget what The Lion King told you, that's the real Circle of Life.