Yesterday marked the third time I’ve donated my hair to Locks for Love. I do it every three years or so, whether I need the haircut or not.

Trust me. I needed the haircut.

For whatever reason, I get my cut at Hairbenders in Okauchee. It’s a nice salon and they don’t make fun of me and I always get a good cut. And they do the donation as a service, so I get a nice haircut for free. (I'm that cheap, I guess.) Anyway, This was the first time the stylist put the hair into a bunch of little braids. She made five little braids.

It’s strange, those first few hours after a severe haircut. You’re literally light-headed for a while. Then you start wondering how much shampoo you’re going to save over the course of this haircut. Then you feel sad. Then you feel better. Then you feel sad again.

I’m happy to donate my hair to Locks for Love, and, at least according to the postcards they’ve sent me in the past, they’re happy to receive it. And although it pleases me to think of someone walking around with my debonair salt-and-pepper locks, it turns out they sell the gray hairs in order to offset manufacturing costs. So, at this point, about half of my donation goes into wigs.

It doesn’t really matter. I grow hair. I give it away. I’m grateful for the opportunity to do someone something good with it.