Wednesday, October 28th, 2015

I got my hair cut. It’s not the hair cut I wanted, or even the hair cut I asked for. It’s the hair cut the barber thought I wanted. She saw a graying 55-year-old guy and thought I wanted to look like John Wayne just before cancer made him so haggard-looking that he stopped making public appearances.

I said I wanted a trim, just an inch or so off the sides and back. I even asked her to use a scissors, so she wouldn’t go all crazy clippers on me, forcing me to walk out of their with hair styled like a shoe brush. I didn’t realize how much she was taking off me until she was almost done, because she wetted my hair down with a spray bottle before she started cutting so that it was all laying flat on my head. It didn’t look like much then, and it looked about the same when she finished up until she started blow-drying it and it didn’t fluff. Too late by then. I had to pretend I liked it and made a mental note to ask her to trim a lot less than an inch off next time.

scruffy | 9:53 am CDT
Category: barber
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