Nice hair

I'm getting a haircut.

Yes, I am well aware that this is generally only a big event for very small children. "The first haircut," as it's known - mothers gingerly taping locks of their baby's hair into a scrapbook for the world to see. I am not an infant, but I am confident that your keen intellect has already alerted you to this fact. I haven't frequented a crib for somewhere in the range of 24 years.

Why, then, is this particular haircut such a big deal? Well, for one thing, I have never had a haircut that I liked. I'm sure you can relate. Secondly and more importantly, though, I haven't had a haircut in over seven years, and yes, I'm a guy. I'm a guy with hair down to his butt, a throwback to the '60s.

People have come to identify me by my flowing blond locks. "Do you know Dan? You know Dan, the guy with the long hair." "Ah yes, that Dan, the Dan with long hair" they would retort. My hair was my identifying characteristic, my trademark. How, then, will people describe me after my ponytail has been detached from my head? Will people stutter for lack of adjectives in describing me? I imagine that there will be a period of time where they will refer to me as the guy who used to have long hair, but then what? After all, I am the man who once pulled a Mazda MX3 using only his hair. Is that normal? No. Is it memorable? Yes. People remember me. People remember my hair.

"Nice hair," many a stranger has remarked. The young women would wish that they possessed my tresses, and the old men recalled when they did. "I remember when my hair was long like that," they would comment, a dreamy look in their eyes as they disappeared into the past. Occasionally, a random pedestrian would even venture to cop a feel - a 24-inch, blond hair feel.

Now, I'm not saying that having long hair doesn't have its pitfalls, because it does. If I had a quarter for every time I was told to "Get a haircut," I would be a hundredaire. (For those of you doing the math in your heads, that equals 400 times.) Drying my hair would take hours, and have you ever gotten your hair tangled in barbed wire? Let's just say that it's not a pleasant experience. And let us not forget the Locks of Love Gestapo. "You should cut your hair and donate it," over and over again they would prod.

That being said, I am getting a haircut, and I am not donating it to anyone. Being the entrepreneur that I am, I have decided to sell my Rapunzelesque hair. Don't worry, though, the money will be going to charity. Soon and very soon, my hair will be gone, but hopefully my identity will stay. RIP my hair, my beautiful, beautiful, hair.

Dan Thoms is a graphic designer who lives down by the river in Sedamsville. He enjoys long walks on the beach, shampooing his hair and having fun with all of his friends at the Vineyard West Side.