Mad Scientess Jane Expat
So I was in the shower tonight and I had a revelation.
There's an election and a financial crisis going on, but frankly I've already marked my absentee ballot and I have inherited my parents' fundamental distrust of, well, everything and have diversified my assets, so this isn't about either of those things. But it's important. Trust me.
I was giving my avoirdupois its usual thorough scrub when I realized I was uncomfortable in a certain sensitive region.
Two seconds later, I pulled an elaborately knotted black strand out of my ass crack. And that's when I knew.
My hair is officially too damn long.
There had been hints and portents of this earlier. For instance, there's the whole problem of giving blow jobs with long hair. I don't mind my partner's nether topiary wrapping around my tongue while I'm busy down there, but for some reason I get really annoyed when my own hair decides to try and muscle in on the action. And I don't know about you, but my first thought when I'm about to perform oral sex isn't, "Gosh, I should tie up my hair."
Additionally, the bloke remarked upon the nests he was finding in his bed while we were in Vienna. "I could cut it," I offered. "Well, it's up to you," he said, "but I like it when it's long." Since he's English, what this actually means is, "OMG NO PLEASE DON'T CUT YOUR HAIR."
Although I don't believe a partner's preferences should dictate the length of my hair, it's taken forever (okay, one year) to grow to my shoulder blades after two years of being kept cropped short. And the increased time I have to spend maintaining it is nothing compared to caring for waist-length dreadlocks. And I have to admit, it's gotten past the awkward stage and is rather flowy and wavy. So it stays. For now.
But if it tries any more freaky stuff, it might get a fringe hacked into it.