I got out of the shower and started drying my hair. I looked into the mirror and what I saw was a giant Q-tip. My rapidly graying hair was all fluffed out like a big Q-tip, a big fat, giant Q-tip. I needed a haircut. So it was off to the hip hop barber shop yesterday afternoon.
I'm not one of those people who sit and wait for a specific barber. I'll take whoever has an empty chair. This time it was a new guy, so I explained how I like my hair cut. Number three on the top, one and a half on the sides. I have no idea what the hell that means, only that one of the guys told me that was what he had used on a previously successful haircut. So with those instructions, he took the clippers and made a wide swath through the top of my hair, across my head. I immediately said in a loud, concerned voice, "Oh my god, not that short." And then I laughed. It's my go to joke with every new barber. He didn't laugh. Anyway, the haircut continued, buzzing away up and down my skull. He then switched to the straight razor, making precise edges all around. When he was satisfied with the hair on my head the young man went after my wild eyebrows, using a clipper to artfully shape and trim them. He shaved across the bridge of my nose so as to not leave me with a unibrow, and then once again used the straight razor to make precisely matched brows. Before I knew it there was a buzzing in my ears. All the hairs in my ears that I have been struggling to pluck with tweezers, were instantly whisked away. I was being shorn like a ripe sheep. Finally, he swung me around in the chair, looked me in the face, and proceeded to stick that tiny electric razor up my nose.
"No... um, I'll take care of that later at home. You've done a fine job, just great."
I was done. I don't know if he was, but the only other hair I could think of for him to trim... well we just weren't going to go there.