Friday, February 8th, 2013

I scared the hell out of a hair stylist the other day. Here’s how it happened.

I usually meet My Darling B for dinner at Alchemy on Thursday night. Right next door there’s a tonsorial establishment of some kind – not merely a barber shop, but a place where one of the things they do is cut hair. And I very much needed my hair cut, so I made an appointment to be shorn between quitting time and dinner.

Claire was my stylist for the evening. I told her I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had my hair cut but that I’d waited far too long, then described how I like to wear it. She warned me that she’d have to cut about two inches off the sides and back to make it look the way I wanted it. I said that’d be just fine, and she got to work.

She chatted me up while she was cutting and I sort of lost track of time. Then, after she had cut the sides and back and was working on the top, I looked at myself in the mirror and said something like, “Wow! That looks so short!”

Claire’s scissors paused in mid-stroke. “That was the plan, wasn’t it?” she asked.

“Yes! Yes, it’s exactly what I wanted! Looks great!” I reassured her, and she went back to work.

shorn | 9:00 pm CDT
Category: daily drivel | Tags:
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