I hate getting my hair cut. I hate the awkward, stilted conversations you have with hairdressers — those perfect strangers who just happen to be paid to wield scissors dangerously close to your throat. I hate how salons are as sterile and devoid of character — and damned near as threatening — as a dentist's office or a hospital waiting room. I calculate that if I continue to dodge regular haircuts, by the end of the year, I should be able to pull a man through my bedroom window... More >>>