esrosedotblog

I went to the barber today.

Actually, I probably went to a stylist. I don't really know the difference any more.

This guy is a friend so it is relatively painless. An important factor. I am haircut/barber/stylist averse. I am not sure why. It might verge on a phobia. Listed in that personality disorder list. But it is not. I just looked to see.

It is just common garden variety resistance to sitting still and letting someone else have at me.

I have cut my own hair off and on for much of my life. All the way from a mild buzz cut to the closely shaved, nearly bald look.

But now, with a lot of actual baldness, it really looks better to let as much hair as will grow up there. Today, for example, my friend took nothing off the top. Not a lot to take. Leave it alone.

I did better than usual. I got there early and walked around a bit. Found a new restaurant. He is right in the middle of town. Bided my time. And, when he arrived, my boredom level was high enough that I jumped into the chair gladly.

During the haircut, another guy I know came in and the chit chat distracted nicely.

When I was a kid, I went to a barber that was right in the neighborhood. Edgar Trentaseau. Belgian. He had an old photo of the King of Belgium in the shop. Edgar would not do short cuts. I was about eight when I asked for one and got refused. That, eventually, did him in.

I went around then, moved to the other barber, a bit further away. But bike able. Mr. Kitzig. I remember that he had a lot of fish and game magazines. Something new for me. Edgar was a Saturday Evening Post man.

Over the years, I have tried to like many barbers. Then stylists. Not a good take.

I think that I am finally settled with this guy. He is cheerful. He does not take me too seriously. And he does the hair the way he wants and it actually looks pretty good. He more or less ignores my input but I like him well enough and he likes me.

What else could I be looking for?

Labels: hair