Wednesday, February 24th, 2010

Your barber is like your doctor. He can say things to you that ordinary people can’t say to each other, not if he expects to get away with it. Your doctor can tell you you’re fat and flabby, and do it with a straight face. “You’re twenty pounds overweight. You should go to the gym at least three times a week.” And you have to take it. You can’t fire back, “Yeah? Well, you look funny and you have bad breath!” Not if you want to see him again.

And your barber, it turns out, has the same kind of safety net. “Mind if I trim your nose hairs?” my barber, George, asked me as he was finishing up with my haircut, dusting the hairs off my nose and cheeks.

“Um, sure,” I answered him. Well, he offered, and that’s hair, too, so why not? A few deft sweeps with an electric clipper and he was done. Or almost.

“It was looking like a couple dead flies were dangling their legs out your nose,” he said, clapping my shoulder.

See? If it has to do with hair, it’s acceptable.

dead flies | 10:03 am CDT
Category: barber, daily drivel
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