Goodbye Farrah

I got my last German haircut this week.
As he was cutting my hair, Michael, the most competent hair stylist I've found in Hannover (after kissing a lot of frogs, figuratively speaking) asked whether I'd like to do anything different with my hairstyle. "God, no!" I wanted to shout. 

I've made it this far - through the mushroom cut, the triangle cut, the Farrah Fawcett layers, the 'how long does this take to grow out?' cut. Maybe my last two hair years have maybe not been as exciting, but they have been reliably decent.

The haircut battle is not really about hair. I thought of it today I successfully navigated the crowded swimming pool - the only disorganized place in Germany - like an aquatic obstacle course. I swerved around pedestrians in the bike lane. I answered emails at work in German. I know the temperature in Celsius. I tried over and over again and I have adapted. It took me a while to get here, and I'm not taking any chances now.

So, Michael, you can lecture me on the use of a round brush as much as you want. I'm not really paying attention. I am just glad that the Farrah cut has returned to the 80s where it belongs.