Great Quips

Friends,

Somedays, a man just needs to get a haircut. And I, like many men I assume, have difficult time with getting a haircut for two reasons. First, I don't know a think about haircut styles. Second, I'm balding. Now, I admit, my second reason has a direct relation to my first reason, and if I had luscious flowing locks of hair, then maybe I'd know more, but probably not. I'd still tell the person, number 3 guard on the back and sides, then blend the top...the only real difference would be you wouldn't see my scalp so clearly.

All my haircuts are really just trimming the branches on a dying bush. I have seen my future, it is my bald. First, I'll get that fantastic George Costanza laurel ring of hair, but I'd think I'd just shave my head when it gets to that, but what sucks, is that I got a big goddamn head (hat size 7 and 3/4 ladies and gentlemen), and my Peter Gallagher style eyebrows, so it's a lose-lose situation. And I really don't want to put sunscreen on my head...but I'm going to have to...goddamn genetics.

Yes, bald men are sexy...but most bald men have smaller heads and don't have bushy eyebrows. I suppose I would have a controlled wax of my eyebrows, like to re-size them, but it makes me nervous. Not because of the pain, but because when I was a kid, my next door neighbor was this lady who shaved her eyebrows completely off, then painted them back on. And that no-eyebrow lady always freaked me out...not just for the eyebrows either, but she smelled kind of strange, wore too much make up, and one time, stole our cat. So doing work on the eyebrows conjures up all those crazy lady connotations.

Anyway, I get a haircut today because my hair was getting long, and I sit there and chit-chat with the stylist (which is the feminine form of the word barber). They always want to talk, so I converse idly. Then it came time to trim up my sideburns, and she notes that I have a "beard" so she says something about how she'll have to do it because of my beard. Here is when my stylist gets funny.

She says, "Oh, you got the beard, so I'm going to cut your sideburns like this" [she then proceeds to cut my sideburns...and yes, she said beard like "that's a beard, asshole or are you just a wino?"]

I reply cordially and self-deprecatingly, the only way I know how. She finishes cutting my hair and says, "So, how's it look?"

And before I get to respond she says, "Oh, here's your thick spot here." Then points and ruffles a section of my hair that's not quite as thin as the others. Then "Oop, there's some more thick spots here and here too, that's weird." She ruffles the smattering of thicker spots on my head. Then, as she is blowdrying the pieces of hair off me she says, "Oh, I got all the gray ones too. Not that they won't grow back, but I got them."

Oh, hilarious! You have a shearing wit, Tammy. Oscar Wilde has nothing on your great quips. I shall guffaw tonight, for sure....the cunt.

Nothing like making fun of a balding, gray-haired, twenty-something year old man. I suppose that she had all the power in that relationship. I wise-ass back, and she could have shaved off an eyebrow. And, you know, she didn't do that bad of a job either, so I had to tip her, because if I shorted her the tip, if I wind up back in her chair, then she could shave off an eyebrow.

Oh, and to top of it if all, a real indignity beside the bald gray-haired cuntsmithing she laid on me, the lady insisted on calling me Byron. Goddamn haircuts.

VIVA EL MUSTACHE