I last got a haircut this summer sometime. Then I went quite awhile without one, and when we were in OR last September I mentioned that I needed to get a haircut.

Oh no, my Mom and sister cried, don’t cut it.

Fine, I said, I’m going to let it get so long that you’ll never bother me again for cutting it too short.

And I went home and focused on growing my hair.

It was nasty.

I grew it as long as I could stand, actually it was quite a bit longer than that.

It kept getting longer. . .

and longer. . .

It got to the point that something needed to be done with it, it was shaggy and unkempt. But what to do? A mullet? Ponytail?

At one point I told my wife that as a bonus, I was going to quit trimming the beard too. So then that got all shaggy to match.

I finally got it cut. This was the monumentalist of events. I lost track of how long I suffered, it was probably close to six months.

Now I’m all back to normal, and celebrating with iced tea in a jar.