Cutting my own hair

I decided it would be a good idea to cut my own hair. I look like a serial killer.

I will never try it again, for a couple of reasons:

1. I shake worse than a bowl of jello.
2. I can't see the back of my head.

I know I could use a mirror to see the back of my head, but that means I would need to cut with one hand, and hold the mirror with the other. It's not possible.

Cutting your hair in the mirror is like driving in England, and I wasn't very good at that, either. In fact, one day, I was hanging out at a snooker (like playing pool) parlor and I drove back to my hotel, 2 miles away. The streets are narrow, and I kept hearing a popping noise all the way. Turns out I was popping the side mirrors on every car on my left.

The decision to cut my own hair proves that I can't be trusted. Once, I thought it would be a good idea to get on my slick roof, to change the direction of my antenna, so I could watch football game.

I ended up doing a Clark Griswold off of the roof, traumatizing my eight year old daughter, Sarah, who I used as my navigator. This was confirmation that I am a lunatic and probably scarred my daughter for life. To this day, she can't bring herself to look up, which means she'll never enjoy watching a great meteor shower, and its all my fault. The grief is unbearable.

Now, if you'll excuse me, we have people coming over, so I need to cut a few holes in a brown paper bag.