A Cut Above the Rest

 

Getting a haircut has never been one of my favorite outings into the so-called real world, but it’s definitely getting worse. My receding hairline has receded about as far as it can go, so you are probably wondering what all the fuss is about.

Well, I’ll tell you. It’s just a little disconcerting to sit down in the barber’s chair and look into the mirror only to see Grizzled Adams staring back at you. It’s pretty bad when you have more hair below your ears than above them. The top of my head looks like a moon crater while my nose and ears look like the Amazon rain forest.  I used to say; “Just trim it around the ears a little.” Now I tell her; “Just trim up the ears a little.”

As I stare into the mirror I have to admire the job the hair is doing in the southern Hemisphere of my head. While the Arctic region looks a little sparse, below that frost line there is definitely a lot of wild unchecked growth going on. Eyebrows, nose hair, ear hair and my full white mangy beard are doing quite nicely, thank you. Because I work home alone all day I rarely go through the motions of combing the wild beasts and they definitely look a little untamed in the barber’s mirror.

I say barber, but I should say stylist; I go to a local salon in the Hooterville wannabe town I live near. It’s five minutes away and it’s “cost-effective” if you get my drift. Today the stylist asks “What are we doing today?” with a look and tone that says; “What the hell do you expect me to do with this?” We then begin our little dance routine; I tell her “Just trim it up quite a bit” to which she always replies; “Are we using clippers?” I’m never quite sure if this is a rhetorical question. I’m tempted to respond; “I don’t see a chainsaw lying around so I assume so.” I’m guessing she’s hoping to get away with just clipping off a few stray hairs with her scissors and calling it a successful operation. Actually I’m sure she’s secretly wishing she had a chainsaw to do the job with, but they’re nothing if not polite here.

The procedure doesn’t take too long, I’m thinking she’s not too worried about making any mistakes in my case. After all, she probably shot the Before picture of old Grizzled just in case of a lawsuit, sort of like a doctor ordering “preventative” medical tests. If I complained she’d just bring out the picture and exclaim “At least you don’t look like you belong in a nature documentary anymore.” And she’d be right.

The barber/stylist/lawn care specialist always offers to trim my eyebrows and I let her. I do this even though my wife offers this service for free. That’s because my wife tends to pluck them out, usually when I’m driving. It’s not like I have real bushy Andy Rooney eyebrows, but there is one mutant strand that likes to stick out from the rest. It only seems to bother my wife at 50 mph because that’s when she leans over and says “You’ve got one little strand sticking out. Let me get it.”  They might be pulling me out of a ditch sometime but at least I’ll be groomed.