I'm back and I'm here to talk about my hair. After sticking with the same stylist for more than five (yawn) years, I got sick of limp locks, having had half of my hair razored off in one session or another. I decided I needed to break up with David the stylist. We didn't even have anything to talk about any more when I came to visit him.

So I started slutting around with different stylists, always preferring a male stylist since that one time in Little Five Points, Atlanta, when I let a butch lesbian cut my hair and I ended up with a shlong (a short-long, simply another word for a mullet). Since then, no women have won my heart enough for me to want them to cut my hair on a regular basis.

Until I met Susan.

From the first session, I loved my hair. I told her I needed something a little more edgy but I have to factor in the whole multinational corporation breeding expectations of conservatism. Not an easy task. Corporate on the outside, funky on the inside.

She nailed it.

I've been going to see her for over a year and my hair has grown about ten inches. She keeps asking me if we are still growing it and I keep saying Yes, if it will keep growing and not look bad. Last time I went she said we can keep growing it another six inches until it's even with my nipples. She calls it titty hair.

The only titty hair I have ever had is that embarrassing long outgrowth around the nipples which I pluck when I realize it has grown to about three-quarters of an inch. I'm beyond excited at the idea of growing such long hair that it dusts my nipples. Oh the glee. It should only take another year.