Today marks five months since my last haircut. I wanted to commemorate a milestone of sorts: I just asked Katharyn whether she could lay hands on a suitable elastic so we could try for a ponytail. It worked, sort of.
Katharyn calls it Jeffersonian. That’s being generous. It’s barely long enough to gather. And no, there will not be photos. For now let’s consider it my “Zoom mullet”: minimally presentable at front and sides and out of control in the rear, where none dare gaze.
The thumbnail (click for a larger version) is from 1972 in Berkeley, CA, a time when my hair was a year or two longer than it is now.
I have an appointment to get the hair cut just under two weeks from today. I have not yet decided whether to go through with it. The risk inherent in that act is higher up the scale than anything I have done in the previous three months. I’m not sure I want to go there just yet.
[ Note added 2020-07-03: ] I cancelled the appointment. One hundred seventy-four days and counting.