I thought the only people with obvious difficulty measuring were men with Dicklexia. I was wrong.
Last weekend, my highly stressed out, uber-OCD hairdresser (yes, I know I’m supposed to call her a ‘stylist’, but I don’t; never have, never will) was supposed to trim an inch (ONE inch) of length from my hair. One inch. That’s it.
Miss Shears-a-Lot clearly never passed elementary math. Or if she did, she was using a ruler from another planet. Because *SIX* (SIX!) inches (six inches!) later, I had to threaten her with bodily harm to get her to stop cutting.
“Girl, if you want to avoid getting them shoved into your eye socket…”
Snip, snip, snip.
“…Put. The scissors. Away.”
So my hair *used to* fall below my bra line.
Now it falls to the middle of my shoulder blades.
Six inches! (SIX!)
That’s half a foot!
But it’s not foot measurements that put this situation in the proper perspective. Think about it this way: She shortened my curlies by an average (that’s what *I* consider average, anyway) cock length.
And it’ll take me a year to…erm…get it back up (heh) to the length it used to be.
Fuckity-Fuck, Fuck, Fuck! (And I don’t mean that in a let’s-have-a-bout-of-sweaty-sex kind of way.)