I’ve been thinking about haircuts a lot recently (probably too much). Over the last pandemic filled year or so, myself (and many others) really let our flows grow wild. Some of my friends cut their own hair. Some of them had their roommate or significant other cut it for them (to varying degrees of success). I personally had my mom buzz almost all of my hair off right after the pandemic started and once more in the middle of it. Besides that, I let it grow longer than I had since I was in middle school.
So now you know what it’s like to be a girl!!! I hate having my hair cut and I hate it more the older I get. It used to be an adventure, Who do I want to look like this time? But now I’m just trying to avoid the old crone look and get it over with.
I’m sorry to say…more like embarrassed to say…that the haircut fear never goes away. It will always look exactly the way you like it…but only on the day you’re getting it cut. You’ll always think that perfection is just one more, or one less, snip away. You’ll never quit thinking everyone’s noticing your bad haircut. And you’ll never believe the truth — that nobody’s looking and nobody cares.
You have hit on a universal fear, that many have and no one shares. Mainly, DON'T TOUCH MY HAIR, IT'S PERFECT, OR WAS A FEW DAYS AGO, YOU'RE GOING TO RUIN IN, AND WORSE, MAKE ME LOOK LIKE A FOOL!!! The good new is it always grows back.
As you well know, my lovely wife has been cutting my hair since long before you were born. And for years I told her, "You have to tell me when you're ready to hang up the shears." Of course I was just being polite. I didn't expect her to take me up on it. And a month ago, after I don't want to say how many years, she actually did. It's been four presidents since my last professional haircut. It was at a neighborhood place in Larchmont. Maybe I'll go back there. If they're still open. The guy had those "magic fingers," metal vibrating things he slipped onto his fingers to massage my scalp at the end. That was the one thing Susan refused to do. And the one thing that may help me survive this seismic shift in my universe.
Basically, you have two alternatives: One: slap a bowl on your cranium and snip away with any sharp scissors you have nearby. It helps if you have a trusted individual to do the heavy clipping for you. Two: purchase a manly power saw/razor combination and loose the dogs of war upon your scalp. This too would benefit from assistance from somebody who stands to gain from your continued existence on the planet. On the other hand, if you plan to drink a Pina Colada at Trader Vics, your hair should be perfect. Ah-wooo! Enjoy your pelage while you can, you'll be gray or bald soon enough.
Jackie and I argue about my haircut every time. She likes it long, I prefer it shorter. I say, "I like it this way!". She says, "Yeah, but you don't have to look at it all day".
So now you know what it’s like to be a girl!!! I hate having my hair cut and I hate it more the older I get. It used to be an adventure, Who do I want to look like this time? But now I’m just trying to avoid the old crone look and get it over with.
I’m sorry to say…more like embarrassed to say…that the haircut fear never goes away. It will always look exactly the way you like it…but only on the day you’re getting it cut. You’ll always think that perfection is just one more, or one less, snip away. You’ll never quit thinking everyone’s noticing your bad haircut. And you’ll never believe the truth — that nobody’s looking and nobody cares.
You have hit on a universal fear, that many have and no one shares. Mainly, DON'T TOUCH MY HAIR, IT'S PERFECT, OR WAS A FEW DAYS AGO, YOU'RE GOING TO RUIN IN, AND WORSE, MAKE ME LOOK LIKE A FOOL!!! The good new is it always grows back.
As you well know, my lovely wife has been cutting my hair since long before you were born. And for years I told her, "You have to tell me when you're ready to hang up the shears." Of course I was just being polite. I didn't expect her to take me up on it. And a month ago, after I don't want to say how many years, she actually did. It's been four presidents since my last professional haircut. It was at a neighborhood place in Larchmont. Maybe I'll go back there. If they're still open. The guy had those "magic fingers," metal vibrating things he slipped onto his fingers to massage my scalp at the end. That was the one thing Susan refused to do. And the one thing that may help me survive this seismic shift in my universe.
Basically, you have two alternatives: One: slap a bowl on your cranium and snip away with any sharp scissors you have nearby. It helps if you have a trusted individual to do the heavy clipping for you. Two: purchase a manly power saw/razor combination and loose the dogs of war upon your scalp. This too would benefit from assistance from somebody who stands to gain from your continued existence on the planet. On the other hand, if you plan to drink a Pina Colada at Trader Vics, your hair should be perfect. Ah-wooo! Enjoy your pelage while you can, you'll be gray or bald soon enough.
Jackie and I argue about my haircut every time. She likes it long, I prefer it shorter. I say, "I like it this way!". She says, "Yeah, but you don't have to look at it all day".