When I was in high school I was the 'Nerd', or the 'Geek'. (Back in those days the distinction wasn't
so clear to us). I was picked on, I was made fun of, the usual things you'd expect from high
schoolers who individually are young men, but when in a group have all the mentality of a spoiled
four year old.

Towards the end of high school I began to strive to be myself. To be different, unique, my own
person. I wasn't just a geek, hell, that wasn't ever in question, I was ME. And, in an effort to
be ME, I changed what clothes I wore (I went bogan, black jeans and T-Shirt and bomber jacket), I
got three earrings (at the same time no less, but I don't recommend that) and I changed my hair.
These were about the only things I could easily change about myself that weren't limited... Well.
Thats not entirely true - I went to an all-boys Catholic school, which meant that I wasn't allowed
to have my earrings in in school - and if my hair was "too outrageous" I'd have to have it manhandled
back to what a "respectable gentlemen student" would have.
I bleached my hair first, intending on going platinum blonde, but as the dark brown stripped away
my copper undertones came out and I found the most remarkable neon orange - and that was enough
for me. When school started, I had my hair shortened into a crew-cut so that I ended up two-tone -
the top half a faded blonde, the bottom my natural brown - which was remarkably accepted.
Later I went red, which apparently was "too wild" and required a brown rinse.

Towards the final days of school, I decided that I needed to do something a little more interesting.
As our school colours are royal blue I went down to the local mop-crop shop and ordered me up some
dye, with an accompanying bleach and trim. Thus it was, the next day - the very last day of school -
I sported a ball-point ink blue shock of hair. The teachers were not impressed.

I had attempted to grow my hair out earlier in the year, to see what it would be like long - at the
time the school had objected and I ended up cutting my hair, but now... no school, no rules, long
hair was in.
Unfortunately my hair was still bleached - although the blue had faded out. This meant that as time
passed, and my hair grew longer, I'd randomly go in for a trim to have a bit of the bleach taken
off.
This also meant that washing my hair was a pain in my butt, 'cos bleached hair is somewhat like
straw, conditioner doesn't really do much and you can barely comb your hair in the morning. Also
the wad of bleached hair behind my ponytail band always fluffed out. At my first job, inspecting
cars, the other lads called me 'Lamby' in reference to the way it looked like sheeps wool. However
they never said it to my face, so I'm assuming it wasn't an entirely affectionate term. C'est la vie.

I sported a style that had the back and sides above my ears shaved - it sounds like a mullet, but
it wasn't shaved that high up. When I decided that I was tired of having to have it shaved every
six weeks, I stopped doing that - and ended up as the fuzz grew out on the sides of my melon above
my ears, that it looked suspiciously like a duck curl. Almost impossible to tame, my wife would
refer to this as "Winging out". Charming.

Some four and a half years after I started to grow my hair out, now at a length where it was between
my shoulders when wet, I finally had all the bleach out. A great day indeed, conditioning worked
completely and I could actually finally comb my hair all the way out. A minor victory.

That brings us to last Tuesday. I've been completely sick of having long hair for a while. My hair
was down to my middle-back, I got tangled up in it in bed, it blew all over the place when the
wind was up, I couldn't have it down because every time I leaned over forwards it was in my face
and I couldn't see what in the hell I was doing. Things a couple billion women deal with on a fairly
regular basis, but sure seemed like a pain to me.
So, I went down to the local barber and had them whack it off. We ended up with a 12" ponytail
which I sent to a non-profit called 'Locks of Love', an utterly ridiculous American-sounding name,
who take donated hair and make wigs out of it for children who've suffered hair loss (sometimes
through Chemotherapy, but usually due to Alopecia, a permanent hair loss condition). A good enough
cause, but I really had to force my hand to write the company name on the envelope, how much more
12-year-old school girl could you get? Anyways.

So. Today I can have six minute showers for the first time in six years. I put the smallest daub
of shampoo in my hand and thats all it takes. I never use conditioner.
The relief is enormous. I don't think I'll ever grow my hair out again!

And if you think I'm exagerrating, or just being silly, well... You're probably half right. Silly
I can handle. But I take pleasure in simple things, and not having to sit under a shower head with
bad water pressure dribbling over me while it takes me 3 minutes to get my hair wet, 5 minutes to
shampoo and condition it and another 5 minutes to rinse it all out...
Unless you've had to suffer it, you don't know what an annoyance it is.

I suggested to my wife that I might try bleaching and redying my hair now that its short and I can
just buzzcut any errors out. She wasn't impressed. We'll see.