The Barber Shop and Fallin' in Love
Now, there's a misnomer. I found nothin' and no one even approaching the word, "beauty" inside. Except maybe the pretty little filly who cut my hair.
My barber shop had closed, and I decided to try out somethin' new on the advice of one of my girlfriends. "Go to Michelle," she told me, "She does a fabulous job with hair." You mighta guessed, this girlfriend was from the City.
"Come with me," Michelle said, after I arrived for my "appointment" and she guided me past a platoon of women gettin' their hair spiked through sheets of tin foil.
From the looks of it, Michelle seemed like she favored sleepin' on one side of her head. "You gonna cut my hair in a sink?" I blurted out when we got to where Michelle was taking me. "I was kinda hopin' for a barber chair."
"No, silly," she said, slappin' my arm. "I'm going to wash your hair."
And wash it, she did. She scrubbed it, massaged it, rubbed it, and did everything but ask me to marry her. I found myself no longer in the mood for a haircut. Then she dried me off and led me to a chair. "How do you want it cut?" she asked.
"Heck, I don't know," I said. "I ain't never been to barber school."
Well, she cut my hair while starin' at some pictures in a magazine and I have to admit I looked kinda fancy. That was until the next morning when I washed it. When I put my hat on and walked out to the stables, J.W. told me I looked like a Beatle.
I never went back to the beauty salon. I guess I'm not an appointment kinda guy.
Besides, I found out the barber shop that started this whole conversation reopened soon thereafter. Now I go in, sit down, wait my turn for Rudy and get a real man's haircut. Complete with havin' my neck shaved.
But you know, sometimes when I'm all alone at night I think about callin' up Michelle and askin' her if she'd consider just washin' my hair next time.
Update on the Barber Shop
Well, it's been three years since I penned the story above and I'll have to tell you, I still think about that girl. But she hasn't called me yet so I made the decision to find myself a proper barber shop. I've sorta been cuttin' my own hair, I'm sorry to say, but I don't secretly believe a woman can cut a man's hair the way a man likes it cut.
I looked everywhere for the right place until I discovered Guy's barber shop. No, I really mean discovered. My neighbor, Dustin, told me about Guy and gave me directions to his shop in Windsor. I like driving the back way to Windsor, past the golf course and into the quaint town but Guy's place is off in a collection of offices over near the Shiloh exit of the freeway. I'd give you directions but I got lost three times trying to find. A couple of miles away from his place is Guy's fencing or something like that, and they gave me directions just when I was ready to give up.
When I arrived (no appointments, my favorite way to do it because I like to be impulsive when it comes to haircuts) I knew I had found the right barber because he was meditating in his chair. Unfortunately, the door woke him up as I was turning to tip-toe away. Guy strung to his feet and invited me in.
Am I Pretty?