The two oldest boys and I were looking a bit scruffy, so we went out the other day to get a hair cut. Of course since I’ve been getting the same hairdo for 10 years (3 guard on the side faded to a close scissor cut on top, rounded in the back), I arrogantly figured I could explain my needs with a little gesticulation and a set of clipper guards. Silly me.
When the boys and I arrived, they gave us a menu where I chose the full Monte (haircut, shampoo, shoulder massage) for all of us. The shampoo guy arrives first and begins lathering me up while I still in the chair, squirting water out of a bottle as needed. I then got up and followed him to the sink where he rinsed it out. So now I realize that maybe this will be a little different after all.
The stylist arrives with clippers, thinning shears and a comb. Uh-Oh, where are the guards??? Thankfully, he spoke English! Below is the transcript of what would determine how I look for the next 2 weeks:
Stylist: “Shorter?”
Me: “Yes”
Stylist: “OK”
Oh boy. He grabs his comb and clippers and went to work on the right side of my head first. I saw then what he meant by shorter, probably about a one guard. He then turned me and asked if it was OK. Given there was nothing left, I felt the only appropriate answer was “yes”. He then finished the job he’d begun, giving me the first military style haircut I’ve ever received in my life. Granted it was very, very well done and now that it’s been a few days it looks quite nice, but I never noticed before now how many moles I had on my scalp.
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