Ode to the Barber
- Cheap
- Quick
- less stylistic than everywhere else
My normal stylist (ugh) is out, or canned, or both, so I get snagged by a woman who thinks Elizabeth Taylor is a woman to be idolized. I sit down in the chair, and I can tell in my gut that this is a very, very bad thing. Bail out! Evacuate! Say you have a sudden premonition of a bowel tumor! My brain says to me. No, I dupe myself into staying put.
Ill avoid telling the in-betweens of the actual cutting for my own health, but let me just say that by the end of it, I felt the need to rush home and take a pair of scissors out of the kitchen and butcher my own head in a furious tornado of masculinity and desperation. Boy, let me tell you....
Thats exactly what I did. Sad thing is, I did a better job on my own head than the Elizabeth Taylor doppleganger did. I think. If small children start weeping when I walk outside, then I will know.
2 Comments:
I am going to do a post about the barber shop tonight, how ironic.
I too wish I had a barber that I could call "mine" instead of going to corporate America. Barbers used to be about relationships and community. I rarely say two words to the young ladies who cut my hair - largely because I really don't know that I would have too much to say to them that they could understand.
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