Somewhen between six and eight weeks after the last time I get shorn, I go in and tell them to do it to me again.

This is all well and good, and a couple years ago I found a franchised salon-type shop whose people do good work. Every now and then, however, I get a new person who doesn’t know what I don’t like, and because I’m not paying 100% attention to what they’re doing I find myself with styling gunk in my hair by the end of the visit.

The irony, if that’s the correct word to use because gods forbid I misuse that word in this day and age, lies in the fact that when I was running around with much shorter hair I gelled the hell out of it every morning. I was going for that youthful spiky-haired look or some-such. One day I grew up, grew out the hair and threw out the goop.

All of this is to say that I spent all day yesterday going to comb my hand through my hair on subconscious reflex and ending up with sticky fingers. Damned hair gel, anyway.