hello, let's talk about my hair

When all else fails, there are always my follicles to fall back on. So I got a haircut. The kind of haircut where I say, "I'm going to get my hair cut", and then I come home and Larry says, "Wait. Did you get your hair cut?"

So, it's a bob. Or as I like to call it, a Square One. The most straightforward of haircuts. The place from which all future haircuts can go TERRIBLY, HORRIBLY WRONG. 

No fancy stacking in the back. No angles. No layers. Nothing. Just a guy walking around my head with a pair of scissors making all the pieces exactly the same length.

And when I say "just a guy", I mean it very literally. He was just a guy. No bells and whistles.  No smiles. No conversation. No flamboyant gestures or chin jutting complaints about the salon where he used to work. No pickle or side of slaw. Nothing. I've never seen anything like it. This guy acted like personality is a rare and precious elixir to be hoarded under lock and key. 
I tried to inspire him with my own abundant personality--See? Look! I just SPRAY THIS SHIT ALL OVER THE PLACE! And it keeps refilling!!! Like magic!

But he was having none of it.

Just a deadpan: 

--What do you want to do?

--Oh, you know! It's the holidays--such a chaotic time! I just want to get back to basics ... I'm thinking a simple bob. Just make it all one length ...

--Okay.

And then he handed me a mirror when he was done.

--Okay?