Saturday, February 9, 2013

It's All Good; I'm Losing My Hair Anyway

My wife and I go to the same beautician for a haircut. I cannot recall the last time I was in an all-male barbershop. I miss those barber shops. A fella did not have to be super careful about conversational topics; today's beauty shop requires better decorum. Moreover, those barbershops of yesterday had more interesting magazines than my beautician's shop. As a seventh grade middle school boy, I remember that first time I opened a National Geographic Magazine and noticed a bare-breasted tribal gal. You can imagine my 13-year old curiosity upon seeing that first 'barbershop' Playboy centerfold.

No matter where I go for a haircut these days, I pay about $15.00 to have my ears 'set-out.' I always give a two-buck tip but I don't know why. My haircut requires approximately seven minutes whereas my wife's chair time is closer to 30 minutes. The beautician slaps an apron around my neck and begins to trim; soon the apron disappears from my body and I leave the chair. I did the math once regarding minutes computed-to-hours and the hair cut cost compared to coaching hours spent the year of my best pay stipend. I concluded that the beautician made about one hundred nineteen dollars and thirty cents more per hour than did I coaching!

My wife's haircut experience begins with conversation and a hair wash. After the rinsing, the beautician towel dries her hair and begins a carefully orchestrated comb n' cut procedure laced with more conversation. The beautician begins a blow-dry-comb my wife's hair and carefully arrange the pronounced frontal strands into some 'current-style.' Throughout this entire process, my wife gives directions to the beauty operator; (that's what my mother use to call a beautician; beauty operator). The beautician will continue to comb and apply hairspray to my wife until some magical visual moment when two women looking into a mirror come to a nodding-agreement. Women seem to have a stronger opinion on 'how' they wish their hair to 'look' after a cut and the beautician wisely placates. A guy wishes not to appear discourteous or insulting. God forbid a fella would hurt the feelings of a lady (beautician). After all boys are suppose to be tough and part of being tough is accepting the outcome without fanfare. Usually, my wife begins to complain about her haircut about half way home from the beauty shop; quick, however to tell me, "She gave you a good haircut."

I remember my 1949 haircuts costing perhaps, fifty cents. I never imagined the day that I would walk from Pet Smart having paid $41.00 for my seven pound, Toy Poodle's haircut.



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