For the last 5 or 6 years of my life, I've been cutting my own hair (or sometimes not at all). I really enjoyed the convenience of running some clippers across my scalp, jumping in the shower for a quick rinse, and having my hair taken care of in five minutes.
Last summer, I decided to grow my hair out. Now, you have to understand, my hair does not play nice when it is long. I have fine hair, but lots of it; the end result of a full head of long hair is that I end up looking like a cross between Sasquatch and a Q-tip. With that knowledge in hand, I knew that longer hair would require the skill, dexterity, and trained eye of a hair professional.
Being a lazy cheapskate, but also fearful of trusting my hair to a stranger (I once had a distracted hair professional leave me looking like a 45 year old lesbian), I turned to a good friend for advice. This friend, also a man desirous of the ease of short, self-cut hair, but with the constraint of a wife's desire for longer hair, had faced my situation for years. Without hesitation he directed me to the hands of Laurie at Town Hair Salon. "Her hands can do with hair what Edward Scissorhands could do for hedges, but she's better looking" he tells me.
Laurie has been nothing but an artist and magician for my hair. And every once in a while, it's so busy at Town Hair that she washes my hair instead of one of the stuck-up, prissy, 16 year-old scalp scrubbers. That is a special treat; her hair massage technique is also refined and unbelievably relaxing.
So, bear with me for a moment while I digress to provide you with some background on my latest hair adventure. While Tough Cookie and I were on the Left Coast searching for the best cup of coffee in the Pac-Northwest, I noted that the barista had exactly the hair cut for which I had been searching, but unable to describe. Long on the top and front, short on the back and sides, cut around the ears, but with a nice transition into the beard. Without flinching, Tough Cookie had me pose for a photo, but in such a way that the barista's hair stylings were captured in the background. Very sneaky, that Cookie is sharper than the barista's razor-cut bangs.
Armed with a nappy weave and a photo - a weapon I've never had at my disposal for a haircut, I headed to Town Hair. 4:30 p.m. on a Thursday. My normal slot (which conveniently allows me to climb for a few hours afterwards).
After a relaxing stint in the wash chair under Laurie's magic fingers (no up-nosed princess manhandled my scalp today, thank you), we headed to the chopping block. I handed her the photo: "Work your magic Laurie, you have my complete and utter trust."The result is the finest haircut I've had in years. I feel like a buck-fifty, which is more a result of inflation, but hey, I'll take it.