My mom calls me “the girl with the ever-shrinking hair” because I cut my hair so often. I started cutting my own hair about six months ago, and between that day and today, I have probably given myself ten or eleven haircuts. I used to be a girl with long hair, but, currently, my hair is like a glass of water left outside on a hot day: steadily diminishing.
The first time I cut my hair did not go as I had planned. I wanted to cut off one inch, but ultimately I chopped off three as I tried to straighten the jagged edges. Though the end product of this escapade was a crooked head of hair, I found a singular sense of satisfaction in the experience. The cause of this feeling was a mystery to me, but this sensation of fulfillment was enough to convert me into an avid haircutter.
Haircuts, to most people, are a mundane facet of life.
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