Ready for the chop? Emily and Poppi offer encouragement.
On Saturday evening, Richard suddenly announced that he wanted his hair cut short. His naturally curly, thick dark brown hair had been long since his teens. When we first met, he had what is now called a mullet but at the time the style was simply described as long-at-the-back-and-short-at-the-sides. Very 1980s. Which was fine when you were actually in the 1980s.
He'd had enough of total strangers assuming they were both witty and innovative by telling him, often loudly, that he looked like a particular ageing porn star or Frank from Shameless. And he'd had enough of getting his long locks tangled in the head-straps on his sleep apnoea mask.
He'd mentioned his intention to Ted, when they were in their usual pub on Saturday. Ted apparently said Richard would never go through with it. Ted would buy him a pint, (of non-alcoholic, as Richard can't drink), if he carried it through. I suspected that by Sunday morning, the subject would be quietly set aside. However, once Richard makes up his mind about something a whole crate of dynamite can't budge him. Sunday mid-day saw him deposited in a chair on the patio, hair soaked through, and ready to say goodbye to his long-haired image.
"Are you sure about this?" I said, my hairdressing scissors gleaming in the warm autumnal sunshine.
"Get rid of it," he said.
And so we did. And, personally, I think he looks a million times better.
Richard's new short-haired look.