Yesterday, it was finally time: Its been 2 months since we moved to Texas, and a hair cut was needed. I had been scouting the area, and thought I had made my selection carefully, but alas, even the best laid plans are subject to unforeseen problems!

I should first explain to you ladies who may be reading something that all married men already know: a visit to the hairdresser is the one time in our lives when we can be caressed, fondled and intimate with a another woman and get a free pass. Men do not select a hair salon based on the quality of gossip, nor whether there is a pedicure available while under the dryer or even which line of beauty products the saloon uses.

For us (me at least smile ) its like a trip to a PG rated gentleman's club!

For 4 years, in the little town of Moab, Utah I had used the same Hair Salon as Jane, and was just fine having Brandi (apparently Sharron and Tracy, the other preferred hairdresser names were previously allocated to her older siblings!) minister to my occasional needs. She'd spend 4-5 hours with Jane, trying many different shades of “not quite ready to show my natural gray yet blond” and I sure she had some sort of wholesale distributorship contract with the aluminum foil manufacturers. They would chat for hours about subjects that continue to mystify me: gardening, window treatments, how lucky Jane is to have such a great husband.......who knows?

When it was my turn to visit, I'd be enveloped in a loose cape, and buzzed with a #3 clipper. It would take longer to do my ears, nose and eyebrows than whatever hair I have left and it was all over in a matter of minutes, (quiet please Spurs smile ) but during that time, I'd get stroked and brushed, told how her boyfriend doesn't understand her and have a pretty nice chest in a tank top about 6 inches away from my eyes for long enough to ensure a good tip!

Now we were in a different location it was time for a new adventure: I had checked out a couple of places by pretending to look at whatever shop was next door, and when I found an absolutely gorgeous little Asian lady at the register of a neighborhood Supercuts, I was thrilled.

I walked in, and when she smiled and asked if I needed a haircut, I thought I'd struck gold! I nodded dumbly, and then she shrieked in that awful tone that only miniature Asian ladies seem capable of producing....”Errooorrrllllll, .......customer.”

Earl appeared from the back room, and greeted me..

”Whats up, Dog?”.

I could not swear to his origins, but feel confident that there was more Mahogany than Norwegian Pine in his family tree. I like to consider myself neither homophobic or racist, but this was clearly not the happy ending I had in mind!

He palmed my head like a basket ball, buzzed up and down each side and I was back out the door in 3 minutes $20 worse off.

I must clearly spend more time on reconnaissance in my search for a perfect trim smile


It's rarely rocket science, it's usually just math: then again if you can't do the math.......