There is something wrong with me, whenever I get a hair-cut, I turn into a coward. Maybe I was a coward to begin with but the barber really brings in out in me. I think it has something to do with the shame I feel at still, after all this time, being utterly incapable of describing how I'd like my pompadour sheared. It may be too that I am afraid that my hair tells a story when I come in. Yesterday I had my hair cut for the first time in three months. Meaning, I was a bushy fellow. As the Russian hairdresser at "Barbershop Freestyle" eyed my overgrown locks, I could tell she was making a note of how little I cared for her craft and fellow craftsmen.
"You have a lot of hair" She intoned with a heavily lipsticked sneer. "What you want me to do with it?"
Well, cut it of course, but here was the moment I fear, in this all too small window of opportunity I am to describe the exact manner in which my favorite haircuts were given, what tools were used, length was cut, undergrowth was trimmed. Not knowing any of that, I freeze, and say,
"Little shorter I guess"
No, a little longer moron. Of course a little shorter, but I figure "A little" saves me from being sheared like a lamb, as is what happened once. It could be my pension for getting my haircut from non-English speakers that makes everything so difficult. I don't think so. I actually think it helps. When an English speaker is cutting my hair, I feel they are even more appalled by my inarticulateness.
More on this topic to come, as it is rich with self shame and riotous characters.
Posted by ian at February 2, 2007 08:58 AMProbably better than my haircutter, who has become my shrink. A lot cheaper, of course, and with a whole lot less advice. Sort of a do-it-yourself shrink. I can tell her my stories, she can appreciate them, tell me to buck up, and off I go. And only $20.
Posted by: Pop at February 4, 2007 05:40 PM