I went and got my hairs cut Saturday. I walked in, put my name on the list, and waited for a hair cutress. I don’t think that’s the job title that they prefer, but it seems appropriate this early in the morning. She asked me if I wanted my normal buzzcut, but that’s not what I got last time, so I told her I wanted to keep my part, but I just needed my hair shorter. As she turned to get tools out of her cabinet she asked, “So you want a comb over?”
What I heard was, “So you don’t want a comb over?” I thought she was joking because in my mind a comb over is for balding men hiding baldness. I’m a balding man embracing baldness. I’m not that bald, I’m also not that ‘thick’ up front any more.
So she began trimming and all was well until the clippers went zipping through major parts of the hair I thought my prescribed haircut needed. I was surprised, but I think I hid it pretty well. She finished and I paid and then called Jessica on the way out of the parking lot (on speaker phone, Trint) to let her know I did not get the haircut she was expecting. That way she could have time to prepare for this: