Catnapped and Doggone
What does ‘stop cutting your own hair’ actually mean? Emote outwardly. Okay, okay so I’m not a big emoter in any direction but you get the gist. My hair styling hysteria is the moment someone needs to die. When the impulse strikes, I need to get out of the bathroom and put my crazy self at the keyboard. Not only is that state of mind good for a murder or two, it’s a pretty good shot of imagination for both method and disposal.
Spend nine months arguing over a telephone bill with a huge bureaucracy of interchangeable players and you could go home and end up with a DIY Mohawk. Or, you can sit down and let your favorite gentleman character swing hard at an evil woman who bears a remarkable likeness to your utility counterpart. Now, your character may not usually resort to fisticuffs particularly with the fairer sex but Mohawk maintenance requires product and commitment. Plus, it doesn’t really go with the frumpy suits and girl shoes. Let him take a second shot if the moment hasn’t passed.
Fly coach in a middle seat at a moment’s notice to negotiate a major contract only to have your opposition no be able to find their own conference room. This can lead to a military buzz cut administered with the sewing scissors a helpful hotel concierge will provide free of charge. Of course, it will take a while so an asymmetrical punk look might be where you actually end up. To avoid a sunburned scalp and negotiation paralysis from the rubbernecking baby lawyer the other company has sent in unprepared, use a pitchfork. Name the victim using the first name of the other attorney and the last name of his obnoxious business partner. Stick him good. For that matter, let him linger a little. There’s something so soothing about ridding the world of people who waste your time and energy and think it’s okay because they work for a bigger company. Entitlement as a motive for murder. I can see it. And it leaves my hair at a length that allows me to put it in a ‘I haven’t combed it today’ bun. It’s the girl version of the boy bed head ball cap. I don’t want to lose that. It comes in so handy.
Have a loud discussion with an executive at your own company about actions you’ll be forced to undo and defend at the same time. Bald only looks good on Sine̕ad O’Connor and Demi Moore. I suspect my skull is full of bumps and flat spots. Worse, I might even have freckles there. This is the moment when a professional assassin is hired by a keep my hands clean society lion. Bodies fall. One after another. The good guys are stumped. Soon even the entrepreneurial marksman takes aim at our big wig bad’un. It’s so sad really when those in power can’t spin their assets and allies into legal bulletproofing. Sad and exhilarating. All without having to wait until it grows back.
Those friends who held my haircut intervention – they did good.
Thanks for reading.