There is something a tad scary about getting your hair cut by a stranger without your glasses. The reflection in the mirror is so blurry that the hairdresser (correct term?) could be trimming your hair up to match her neighbour’s shrub and you wouldn’t have a clue.
As I’m to be a groom’s man in Peter and Celina’s wedding this Saturday I thought I might get a professional job on my hair. It had grown to hitherto unseen lengths and, while I had begun to enjoy the prospect of a tight fro, it was getting pretty crazy wild. It was my first time going to a barber shop. But it went quickly and painlessly and was pretty cheap too. And best of all I don’t look like a freak. Dad doesn’t like the cut but I can’t say I notice a big difference from how Mom usually trims it.
I tipped the nice lady. Like a guy said on one forum, “if someone can spit in my food or make me look like a retard for a month I tip them”.