I just made an appointment to finally cut my hair. Over 10 inches of hair. The last time I cut off that much at once was when I donated my hair in November 2002, right after my grandmother, a"h, passed away. I've been letting it grow so that I can donate it again, and now that time has come.
I hate getting my hair cut. I dread it. I dread it so much that I almost hung up the phone in the middle of dialing the salon. Now there's no turning back. Unless, I "accidentally" "forget" to show up for my appointment.
At least I know that some little girl somewhere will be able to enjoy my hair as much as I have. Now all I need is someone to come to the salon with me and hold my hand while they hack it off (my hair, that is. They're not going to hack my hand off. I don't think).