Am I Normal?

Almost a week ago, it was sweltering here in the UK. It was so hot! Hotter than it had been in a while, and I'm someone who likes the heat. But I was at the edge of my tolerance with the feeling of oppression from the sheer, humidity that came with this -- we may as well have been living in a rain forest.

The worst thing about it, was that my hair was down to my waist. Thick, dark and heavy, it weighed me down and clung to any inch of bare skin it could find. I didn't know when I was next free for a hair cut, and to be honest, I'm utterly bad at organising this kind of this with a toddler whom I look after arouhd the clock.

Now, maybe this is the reason I'm an indie author: I grabbed the kitchen scissors, strode into the bathroom and cut my hair myself, right up to just below my shoulders. A good twelve inches came off. Suprisingly, it looked okay! Only if you look really closely, can you see that it's a bit wonky, but you'd have to look REALLY closely.

Today, I saw my mum since having lobbed off my hair and she compliemented me on my lovely hair cut (before I told her I did it myself) -- I was well chuffed (Brit-speak for "very happy").

So, would you ever cut your own hair? Am I normal? I kind of thought it was cool -- it made me think of Indian tribes centuries ago, and how they must have used knives and the like to hack off their own hair -- I felt like a warrior of sorts.

My husband calls me feral ... maybe this is why...