Wednesday, October 05, 2016


There are things I hate to do in life, going to the dentist, the doctor, and the barber.  Not for anything other than the wait they put me through. I think it is those little smocks they wear that dictate having your patient or customer have patients waiting. I the hate them all and when I die I am going to haunt them all.

My barber is a piece of work who learned his trade at the Genghis Khan school of barbering. He has an ‘Attack' approach to cutting hair, taking no prisoners, and don't even try to surrender.

I think he is on a bowling team, as he takes my head and like he was tossing it down an alley at ten pins, lowers it to trim. Once he decides to raise my head, I feel like Nathan Hale at his last venue. Grabbing the back of my shirt he yanks upward and I almost choke to death. I'm wondering if TLW (The Little Woman) put him up to it?

Then there is the comb, used like your basic garden rake, as he runs the comb from under one ear to over the other, taking hair, skin, and parts of both ears with him.

His best tool is his scissor, which he snaps in my ear to tell me who is boss now, clipping at breakneck speed, he covers my body with hair clippings, and while on the run, switches in mid-air to a straight razor, where he then chops around the ear, almost slicing it off so I will be able to hear at greater distances.


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