I've been known to let my hair fend for itself, being grown since, oh...1998 or so. Hence, I ended up with hair down to my lower back, thin as it was at the tip. It tapered to a point or so, much like a paintbrush.
One of my *ahem* Female Acquaintances decided that my hair was a travesty. Saying things like "Split Ends" and "Fungal Infection", and she decided that she simply _must_ trim my hair. I happened to like my hair in the style that it currently was in, so I politely declined. (And I wanted to play a little zelda that night. Can ya blame me?)
The next day another acquaintance informed me that his network card had suddenly become flaky. O, Temptations of Temptations, Ye Faulty Hardware. He then appeared on my doorstep spouting such lies as "Would I have driven here if it wasnt _THAT_ bad?" I then prepared myself for some wonderous hardware manipulation (O, Bane of my Existence) and I entered his car. Little did I know that I would end up in Mexico with 4 pesos to my name and a new friend named "Jose". Wait...that was last week...
After taking the normal route to his house (which was out of town at the time) we deviated from our course. I began to get suspicious, but since I knew my way around town, I just assumed he did too and would take a different route.
When we pulled up in a driveway, I knew that something was terribly wrong. I knew then that I wasnt going to DisneyWorld.
We entered the house, which apparently was under repairs, as the electrical system didn't quite work. After several set-backs and attempts to get lighting in the only room with a floor that could be swept, I sat down, confident that I would walk out of there with most of my sanity. During my stay there, I met a fellow by the name of Gideon, and he helped me find essentials such as toilet paper and soap, which are generally not found in POW camps. The Koreans are well known for their torture practic...I did it again didnt I?
After about an hour of combing, spritzing and banding, I was ready to be trimmed. I sat there, as I'd been trained to do on those oh so many occasions when I ended up with a face full of mascara. I didnt think that she trimmed that much off, honestly. I thought it was maybe, _MAYBE_ an inch.
I had no Idea.
I stood and brushed myself off, and was commanded to turn around by her boyfriend so he could see. The first words out of his mouth were an excessively surprised "HOLY SHIT!!"
My spirits immediately sank. I knew something was terribly, horribly, AWFULLY, _TERRIBLY_, *HORRIBLY* wrong.
I gathered my remaining follicles into my trademark ponytail, and noticed that there was no taper. Which means that my hair was just barely longer than shoulder length. O The Horror! O The Humanity! O My Self Image!
I was Stunned, I was Shocked, More importantly, I was Pissed.
A steady stream of profanity flowed through my mind, all the while being appologized to profusely. Once I had collected my glasses, I left the house and nursed my hair at home.
After some pizza, I chatted with some of my other acquantances, and was given an idea for an image.
What flowed from my pencil was an extrospective, humorous view of myself, expressing how my self image looked. Specifically that In my mind, I had Long, flowing locks. And now, all I could see was, well, In my mind it looked like my head was put in a blender. Granted, it didnt particularly look bad, but in my head, it looked awful, and felt awful too...I had lost that comfortable taper that I had used to stroke idly. I had lost the ability to stroke my hair, at least now when I do, it's like a piece of music where it simply cuts out after 3/4 of the song.

It really doesnt look as bad as it does in the picture. (Artistic license and all) And I dont blame her for doing it. If I did, she would be a scissors wielding maniac wouldnt she?

(BTW: Line-art'd in Flash, Text is "Chronicles of a Hero" from Blambot (I think) and umm...well, I forgot.)