Today was the first time I had entered a barber shop in almost 20 years; or are they called salons now? Man, I hope not.
You see, I was one of the lucky guys who lost his hair very early in life (FYI - the ladies loved that look in high school!).
To overcompensate for what I lack on top, I grow a beard. Man do I grow a beard!
I’d recently been enjoying an extended facial hair growing binge. 3 weeks sans clippers. The beardo was quite glorious indeed, unfortunately I think my wife was not as impressed as I was as she came home this morning with a gift certificate to the local hair cuttery, handed it to me, and said:
“I just wanted to do something nice for you. You deserve it.”
It’s true, I did deserve it. I had been dealing with a baby with a serious attitude problem all morning, plus my facial hillbilliyness was getting somewhat out of control.
I gratefully accepted her thoughtful present, and quickly scampered out the door.
I arrived at the barber 15 minutes later. I open the door; immediately I feel like a mouse who had accidentally stumbled into a snake den.
“I do not belong here” I think to myself.
I scan the room.
I am most definitely the baldest (and sadly,..the shortest) among the 20 odd gents in the waiting area. Nice of Heather to send me to a GQ photo shoot to help boost my self-confidence.
I make my way through the sea of hairy, good looking gigantors, and saddle up to the receptionist desk.
Head down, busy with her candy crush, the 18 year-old senses my presence.
“Be right with you” She says.
“No worries. I hope I’m not interrupting your leisure time”
She looks up. We make eye contact. She looks puzzled. She looks sad.
I feel the need to address the elephant in the room.
The concerned look on her face remains, but still no reply.
Clearly she is unable to speak. I'm convinced she's overcome with grief accompanied with an overwhelming desire to help me with my horrible affliction.
“It’s ok, I’m aerodynamic" I say.
"I'm here for my beard”
“Oh, of course” She says with an extremely sympathetic tone.
The next thing I know; I’m being rushed through the barber shop like a cardiac patient through an ER. I jump the line past the poor, handsome saps in the waiting room, and am seated promptly with a young lady who goes to work trimming my face hedges.
She did a great job.
I hand over my gift certificate, and head off out the door with my new face.
I think to myself “I could use more bald pity in my life”