Thursday, January 11, 2007
To paraphrase Elizabeth Tudor, I have my hair cut "once a quarter whether I need it or no". Style-hound that I am, I have it razored down to a number 3 cut by my belovèd, the tonsurious Dr. F. The resulting suede effect will last me a good three months before becoming long enough to be irksome (ie requiring combing at least once a day).
There was an unexpected side effect to 2007's first razor cut; on my first day out with it, I was chatted up by a perky young man at a supermarket checkout. While I was not tempted to stray from the paths of heterosexuality, the encounter didn't half cheer me up; I'd never been chatted up by a perky young thing of any description before, not even back in the long-ago days when I was a perky young thing myself.