As William Makepeace Thackeray, author of Vanity Fair and The Luck of Barry Lyndon (from which the following quote is taken), put it in such inspiring words:
'Dare, and the world yields; or, if it beat you sometimes, dare again, and it will succumb.'
I came back from Japan a much braver person. Thus, having been nagged constantly to cut my hair, I finally did it. Myself.
I just took a pair of scissors to the loo and started cutting, and after about thirty minutes my little brother made me come out so he can take a dung. Not having noticed what I'd done to my hair, he saw the bin full of hair and assumed it was cut off regions unmentionable. When he came out, he carried the bin and asked, 'Explain thi―', and turned silent in awe.
He was silent for about a minute as a subtle smile of sheer shock came crawling across his face. I laughed hysterically, and started crying, 'Priceless, priceless!' as he ran to the living room, screaming in terror.
I finished cutting, and once I got the chance, I showed my new haircut to all my friends on webcam. They didn't see the odds and ends that I didn't cut properly on webcam (both because of the webcam and because I straightened them a little manually), and so I got very positive reactions. However, my mother, who is blatantly honest with me, was not pleased, and said, 'Congradulations, you are now a three-year-older. All three-year-olders go through this phase of "What will happen if I cut my own hair".' I was mostly amused by her reaction, but also a bit offended.
In fact, she was rather worried about my newly found 'bravery' ('I wouldn't exactly call that "bravery",' quoth she), fearing I might do something even more stupid. So far, my bravery has included starting to work on a sexy new look, talking to a cute stranger on the train to Sendai in Japan ('Because you look the coolest in this train,' as I told the girl), and a sweet, major confession to my mother. I said I wouldn't do anything really dangerous or illegal. Maybe bungee. And I said that, unlike a three-year-older, I also thought of what would happen if my little experiment (which, come to think of it, was also a form of rebellion) would go wrong: I'd be able to go to the barber and fix it (which I did today), I'd know never to do it again, and I'd have a hillarious story to tell.
And now I've told you it.
Unum diem...
(P.S.: A long, long, descriptive, and on the verge of impossible to read post will be published as soon as I upload the several trillions of photos I took there. And one more thing: if anyone's interested in a super-sweet seventeen-year-old closeted gay lad from Herzliya Pituakh who plays a gajillion instruments and is a splendid cook, and is also quite wealthy, make contact.)
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