I am in the process of conducting a unique experiment. One that seems to be annoying the hell out of my wife, but I will try to absorb her cutting remarks and keep up my will to see this through to the very end, or ends.
Now any of you reading this post who know just a little about me will know that I am definitely on the wrong side of forty. Well, the wrong side of a lot more than that really, but who’s counting. Suffice to say that I am at an age in life when it is customary for men to lose their ability to replenish their top knots and either settle for fashionable baldness, or at least favour the use of a No 1 clipper.
So this is what I have been waiting for. I have already collected numerous signs, calamities and side effects of the ageing process, but for some hitherto unknown reason, my hair has decided it wants to keep growing. And grow quite long and well, if not luxuriant, at least somewhat shiny. Tinged of course with the always in fashion salt and pepper look. (I do prefer that to simply grey.)
Well, the upshot of this experiment is that I now have hair that is longer than at anytime in my entire life, and I really want to see how far it intends to descend. Nape, neck, shoulders? Middle of my back? Who knows where it will end.
The only downside to my ongoing research project is the number of times in one day that my wife manages to mention the word haircut. For the time being though, I am resisting.