There are many disadvantages to having stupidly long hair. For all the fun you can have swooshing it about like Marcia Brady and combing it over your face like Cousin It, it’s hard to deny the inconvenience of carting round a large and unnecessary extra body part all the merry day.
It gets trapped under the shoulder strap on my handbag approximately once an hour, and approximately once an hour I yank it out, leaving a few strands behind, and shout “STUPID HAIR”. It moults across our floors at such an alarming rate that I sometimes wonder if my boyfriend isn’t secretly entertaining a troupe of 12 identically blonde women while I’m at work. Put your hand down on any part of our floorboards and you’ll come up with a whole handful – and that’s WITH a fastidious twice-a-year hoover.
It wanders further afield, too. Friends have reported my hairs turning up their beds, in their clothes and even, memorably, in their nostril. When I wasn’t even there. But by far the worst part of having loads of hair is right now, when it’s hot.
Having kept me nicely cosy all winter, suddenly it’s a giant furry albatross round my sweaty, sweaty neck. I look at the mad people who walk about in tights and leather jackets and such when it’s 30 degrees outside (on Saturday, a day so hot that Satan would need a battery fan, a woman wearing a chunky knit jumper sat next to me on the tube and I stared at her with red-faced incredulity all the way from Vauxhall to Finsbury Park), and then I realise that I am no better. I have gone out swathed in two and half foot of hair, and then wondered why I felt a over-warm.
I know what you’re thinking. And yes, I could just get a haircut. I could have a sensible bob, or even go the whole hog, crop it off and donate it to charity like a noble person. But you see, my stupidly long hair is more than just vanity – it’s a project. It’s the longest I have managed to grow anything.
All my pot plants shrivel up and die, I can’t keep herbs alive to save my life (or my ragu), and nobody ever asks me to look after their pets while they’re on holiday. Yet I have managed to cultivate this extravagant, pointless, over-insulating curtain of proteins for half of my adult life so far, and it would be a shame to quit now.
Besides, all I need to do is grow it about another 10 inches and I could do the full Lady Godiva – which WOULD be cooler in the summer.