Haircuts

Drew and I both needed to shed some winter coverage and free up some face space to enjoy the warm and inviting sun we have enjoyed of late. We tried to get cuts yesterday, but the places were full and the waits were several hours long. Apparently everyone has the same idea!

I warned Drew that I was going to drag him out early - the place I wanted to go opened at 8am. (I have a friend who has forbidden his clock to register any time in the am between 6 and 11. Says its unnatural to be awake during those hours and Drew concurs). At 7:45am, when I was ready to go, I didn't have the heart to wake Drew. I left him peacefully snoring as I tiptoed out.

I was the first person to arrive (why are you laughing?) and they took me right away. It felt so amazingly wonderful to have my scalp massaged while they washed the grease and grime from my shaggy mane. I sat obediently while the hairdresser snipped and chatted, half listening to other conversations going on around me as people geared up for the day. I always get those little tingly goose bumps of appreciation when someone waits on me for a change. Those old endomorphines go wild and crazy.

As the hair scattered in little bits on the floor around me, I felt lighter, younger, less tired. How can that be? Haircuts are not magic potions. Even the staff told me I looked younger when I was properly fluffed and folded (they probably get paid to say that). I went home and dragged Drew out of bed and took him to a proper barbershop. There is one right around the corner from us, run by a couple Italian guys - very macho, very family oriented, and very happy to take Drew from overgrown mop to slick regular cut, size 4 on the blades.

I have to admit, when he was done, he looked happier, younger, slimmer. Maybe there is something magic about a haircut. It sure did a world of good for the two of us.