I absolutely loathe and detest haircuts. But worse, the itchiness caused by the hair down the back of my neck. There is greater scissor-induced torture known to man, I'm sure, but it's hard to think of any when you're squirming in a chair wishing you'd remembered to wear a looser shirt today. And the ruddy hairdresser actually makes it worse. First she half strangles me pulling back the collar in order to get to the short -itchiest- hairs at the nape of my neck; then said tiny, miniscule, short and oh-so-very-itch-inducing hairs are left to lie there. Unmolested and docile. No problem. But then, oh no, not the brush. Noooooooooooo. Those innocent, unmoving hairs are rigorously swept down my back in the name of tidiness and the suffering starts. That is, to be more accurate, the fresh suffering that comes after the blunt, squeaky, thinning scissors. The scissors that don't so much cut as yank. And those same short hairs always get caught the most, and the eyes start to water and... Aaargh. Only 5 weeks 'til the next bout of torture...
Woodworking connection? Well it is a woodworker doing the suffering.
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