Last week I brought my son Alex for a haircut. He has, like a lot of kids his age, more hair than he needs. It just grows like weeds. It’s thick, luxurious, copious….much like mine isn’t.
It’s times like these that I become a little melancholic about my fallen follicles. Back in the day I had hair that would make Fabio jealous. It grew seemingly at will. I had to tie it for a while. I used to have to use conditioner. A brush at the time was used to brush my hair. Now I use a brush to scratch my head. Of course, these hairs haven’t completely disappeared. No, they seem to have settled on to other parts of my body, places I never knew could even grow hair.
How is this fair? I mean, now is the time when I could really use a nice head of hair. Clearly I didn’t appreciate it enough when I was young. I once even had a perm that is now forever regarded as the funniest joke that was ever unintentionally played on me. Because my hair was so healthy, the perm lasted over 6 months. Even Michael Jackson was in awe.
It really wasn’t that long ago that I regularly had to get a haircut. It wasn’t long ago that, when my hair was cut, I would have to readjust my hat because it was too loose afterwards. Now, well….things have changed.
I get my hair cut usually by either Angele or JP Charles, but I think they are pretty much just humouring me now. They are lovely people, but I think they are even better actors. I sit in the chair, and they ‘put on a show’. They appear to be doing all kinds of cutting, snipping, and various other suspicious acts. Actually, where they do spend a lot of time is with the electric razor on the back of my neck. Other than that (oh, and my ears), it’s all bobbing and weaving. I’m pretty sure they like when I come because they get an aerobic workout.
And so….Alex gets his hair cut. I decide that, why not….I’ll get one too. Angele is on deck. She bobs. She weaves. She cuts the lawn on my neck. Sweat is breaking out on her brow. There’s definitely a shortness of breath there. Maybe I have more hair than I thought? Could it be? Is it possible that there was more that met the eye?
At this point, I decide to believe. For the first time in seemingly years, she finishes off my haircut with the blow dryer. The BLOW DRYER! I have not felt this sensation for so long! Oh, she must be using it to ensure that all my hair is placed just right. Perhaps my part is back? Will she curl my bangs? Maybe pull my hair behind my ears? Oh the bliss!
And then, she bursts my balloon. She tells me she used the blow dryer not to add more volume or part my hair or to style it. She just used it to clean my scalp of any little hairs that may have fallen victim to her little scissors. Like a dust buster.
Damn.
Bill's Musings 