I'm going out to lunch today with two very special friends and went to my local Great Clips since I was beginning to look like Shaggy the dog and wanted to make myself presentable. Don't know if you frequent Great Clips, but at my local salon the online wait times have been creeping up over the years. I figured on a Thursday morning I'd be able to log in, head to the salon, and plop into the chair for my semiannual 'above the ears and above the collar' trim. Not so fast buddy. A thirty minute wait was ahead of me. Interestingly, the salon has like 10 chairs but I've only ever seen two or three in use. Oh well, they say that time is money, but not quite sure who's pockets all that green is going into.
Another sign of the times is that I had a different 'stylist' than I've seen before. Not sure if 'stylist' is the right term for what my head of thinning hair really needs. I'm more the 'do the best you can with what I've got' kind of guy and I'm the first to admit there's not as much to work with up there as there once was.
Growing up it seemed like the Marine haircut was the in thing. Now, when I was five or six I had no aspirations to be a Marine though I did like G.I. Joe. Regardless, I'd end up with hair so short you'd need a micrometer to measure it, which as I understand is exactly what they do in the military. Only problem was this was the 60's and long hair (thank you Beatles) was becoming a thang so me walking around like a dwarf recruiting poster didn't enamore me in the eyes of the hip and cool hippies of the day. I tried to make up for it and fit in by wearing stylish bell bottom trousers which worked pretty well except I kept tripping.
My 'stylist' today was in a talkative mood and for once so was I. Turns out we both have dogs so the thirty seconds it took for my 'above the ears and above the collar' trim flew by.
I mentioned the passage of time... Ain't none of us getting any younger, that's for sure. How do I know this? Well, I part my hair, what's left, to the left but my 'stylist' had other ideas and insisted on combing the few remaining strands to the right. And we all know how uncomfortable it is to force hair where it does not want to go. So we compromised and I ended up with what looks like a small (very small) mohawk brushed straight ahead. At least I can tell which way the wind blows. Maybe next time I'll remind my 'stylist' of the "to the left" but by the next one of my semiannual visits there may not be anything left to comb.
So there you are. The hourglass of time passes nowhere more quickly than in a barber (is that even still a thing?) chair. On the bright side, the hair's thinning fast enough that there may soon come a time when I no longer need to answer: "Did you check in online?"
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