I decided that I should shave my hair off a little while ago. I went into the bathroom with my shaver and selected the longest setting. I looked at Cheryl, turned it on, looked at myself in the mirror and pushed it through my hair right in the middle like Marshall in How I Met Your Mother.
I was confused. I checked the trimmer and it was fine, so I tried again. Still nothing happened. It seems my trimmer only cuts shorter hair.
I came into the kitchen and picked up some scissors. I held my hair up ready to cut into it and then chickened out. I looked at Cheryl, but she wouldn’t tell me what to do. After a few minutes of indecision I collected my resolve and held a bunch of hair between my fingers and closed the scissors on it.
At this point I started to think of Samson, and how much he would have wished he was me if he had been real. The trimmers and the scissors both refused to cut my hair at all. I don’t really understand the complete lack of effect, but oh well. I took it as a sign that it would probably be more effort than it was worth, so I quit.
At some point I guess I’ll just go and buy some proper clippers or pay someone with the right tools to cut it.