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O, Treacherous Hair

I have ridiculously long hair for a guy. I noticed this coming out of the shower the other day and catching my reflection in the mirror. It goes past my shoulder blades when it’s heavy and wet. And thick. So very thick.

Thus, with long hair, comes the hazards of it. Nevermind the fact that it gets caught on things like buttons and zippers when I’m putting clothing on. Those are minor nuisances, at best. Or worst, depending on how you look at it.

Last night at work, during our smoke break, it was a particularly windy night. As I was taking a puff, a rather mischeivous gust tossed my lockes into my face. An angry hiss later and I found a few burnt strands on the end of my smoke. Then the stench of burnt hair accosted my nose, making me want to sneeze. I couldn’t even escape it since it was in my face.

It’s not the first time that I’ve experienced a fiery trim, but certainly one of the worst.

Still that doesn’t compare to the time my hair tried to kill me. No joke. My hair tried to straight up kill me one day.

One morning, I woke up to the surprising sensation of something down my throat. Sitting up quickly, I coughed and gagged out my own hair which had, in my slumbers, managed to sneak its way into my mouth and down my throat. Probably the closest I have ever come to receiving a Darwin Award. At the very least, it would deserve a nomination.

Still, its my choice and I still have my thick fur toque on my head. Sure it might be hot and heavy and full of a murderous rage, but its still my hair and I love it.¬† So if you ever read a story about a man whose face was burnt to a crisp or was¬†suffocated on his own hair, think of me and know that’s how I would have liked to have gone.

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