What is it about a bad haircut that makes you want to punch someone in the face? I mean…really…just punch someone so hard, that they swallow their teeth? I telling you, a bad haircut doesn’t just ruin your day. It ruins your flippin’ life! It’s all consuming. Every time you walk by a mirror, it’s like looking at train wreck…you don’t want to look, but you have to. Maybe it grew in? Maybe in the 32 seconds since you saw your reflection in the window it grew in a few inches. And when you look at it? You wish to the Christ you hadn’t. But, you did.
The comes the time when you reason with the bad haircut. Maybe if you move it this way, or wear it that way, it won’t be as noticeable. But, you’re only fooling yourself. Cause you know deep down it’s still totally noticeable. And you know people are going to stare tomorrow. And say nice things, and you’ll totally wonder if they mean it, or are just feeling sorry for you cause they know what it’s like deep down to suffer from a bad haircut.
Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m just totally narcissistic.
So…yea, I got a bad haircut. A few weeks ago, as a matter of fact. I know. I know what you’re doing, here. You’re giving me that patronizing attitude and thinking: C’mon! How bad is it? Maybe you’re just being a little bit of a baby? First of all, if that is what you’re thinking, you can go to hell. Cause it is bad. B. A. D. Probably the worst haircut I’ve ever had. Right after the one from my one and only trip to the barber shop. You remember. The one where I came out looking like a cancer survivor? Yea. That was bad. This cut, though? Right there. A real close second.
My ol’ man adapted the old haircut joke and uses it as his own. You know the one…What’s the difference between a good hair cut and a bad haircut? Two weeks. Hafuckingha! I don’t need to explain that one to you, do I? Good. Cause I’m not. I’ve spent the last few weeks listening to my ol man’s own brand of sage-like, Mark Twain witticisms. Shit like: “You know what the difference is between a good haircut and a bad one, son.” Or, “Two weeks, Jesse. Two weeks.” Yea…thanks dad. But, this is a little beyond your two week theory. This is one of those life altering cuts.
To say I’m pissed…well, that’s really an understatement. If there was a baby seal in front of me? I’d punch it right in the face. Right in it’s cute little face with the SPCA, PETA and Sarah Mchachlan looking on. That’s how pissed I am about all this. And, yes, it has been several weeks. And, no, I still haven’t gotten over it yet. And, no, I will not grow up!
Just so you have a frame of reference, I sorta look somewhere between the kid from Dutch Boy paints and Chad Kroger from Nickleback. Hey, no offense Chad. The look works for you. You’ve got half a billion dollars. You can walk around any way you like. Me? All’s I got are my looks. And this winning personality. Both of which, combined, will get me a cup of coffee. If I have $1.34. And go to Wawa to get it.
Look, I know I needed a haircut. It was way too long. But this? What’s been done to me? It ain’t right. It’s taken me years to get this hair to the length it was. And now? Now? I’m right back to the awkward hair stage. The dreaded in-between stage. You girls know what I’m talking about here, right ladies? Can I get an amen? No? Ok…
Let me clue you in. The in-between stage doesn’t look good on dudes. Ladies can get away with it. Dudes? Can’t. It’s either got to be long or short. Only a few guys can pull of the in-between look. And believe you me…I ain’t no Johnny Depp. For the longest time, I was on the verge, teetering really, on getting it all cut off. Going back to the short look. Everyone around me says “Don’t. Don’t. You’ll regret it.” Now, what’s funny about that, is these are the same people who’ve been wanting me to get my haircut for years. Now? They’re all back peddling!Whatever. I’m definitely scarred from this. Definitely.