This morning I noticed that once again what little hair I have on the top of my head is starting to curl up into a natural mohawk. That's the unmistakable sign that it's time. I've waited too long. I've got to get a haircut. So at lunch I went over to the closest hair place to my office to remedy the situation before the reception this weekend.
I signed in and had a seat to wait my turn. I usually have it buzzed. How hard can it be to do a #1 on top and a 1/2 on the sides plus its easy for me to remember. After about 10 minutes its my turn so I have a seat and get started. The lady reaches for her electric clippers with the appropriate attachment on it and dives right in. Immediately I'm confused. I saw the clippers so I know that's what she's using but it feels more like a power scalper. She pushing so hard that I look in the mirror to check for blood dripping on my shirt. You know how when you take your first bite of Ben and Jerry's Double Fudge Brownie Sundae and you let a little inadvertent moan of joy escape when you didn't mean for it to; well I tried not to whimper but with each pass of the power scalper and subsequent flash of pain I can't be sure that I didn't. Mercifully in about 5 minutes she spun the chair around so I could see the mirror and asked, "How's that?" I'm thinking, " I'm fat and I'm bald and now what little hair I have left has been cut below the level of the epidermis" but I quietly squeak out "That;s great." I pay and finally I'm out of there. I get out to the parking lot and glance at my shoulders to check for blood. I'm good. Luckily I can put on my helmet to apply pressure to the wound. (First Aid merit badge) Looking back now there was a bright side; it hurt so bad that I didn't even notice being itchy the rest of the day.
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