So this just happened…
A quick trip to Home Depot, with a stop on the way back at the barbershop.
“Have a seat young man, how short are we going”?
“A high skin fade, 5 zero blade if you have it, good and flat on the top, horseshoe style if possible” Cheryl said as she sat directly in front of the single chair in the shop. Sitting prim and proper, pulling out her glasses as if she were inspector Gadget or some shit.
With not a word spoken, the older barbe walked over, flipped the closed sign and turned the old 1970’s TV onto the local news. This TV still with the bad reception and rabbit ears for the antenna. The shop, lined with outdated posters, magazines over 20 years old, and of course, mounds of hair under and around the chair. With a quick snap of the cape, resting on my shoulder, and the thick tissue wrapped around my neck, pulled tight, my airway was under assault.
With the sound I’ve come to know all too well, and a few quick pumps, the chair rose, and my head was forced down. The roaring sound of the clippers came to life and I could feel the blades plowing up my nape – As my head was forced down, I peered over at Cheryl to see her starring, with her crooked smile, sitting at the edge of her seat. After several minutes of non-stop shearing, Cheryl walked over toward the chair.
“Now is that a 5 zero, or is that your shortest blade” as she walked around, inspecting the cut. “Triple 000 ma’am, I’ll use the straight razor to clean up shortly. Don’t worry, we’ll have him cleaned up, regulation style in a few minutes” the old guy said as he continued the butchering.
“Hope so, it seems like we’re getting haircuts every week or so, it starts to add up” as Cheryl sat back down legs crossed, enjoying the action.
After 20 minutes or so, the old guy spun the chair around… “Short enough for ya” adding a dose of talc powder and removing the next strip…
“Looks great – I think this will hold for a few weeks” as I stepped out of the chair and headed for the restroom. As I approached the back of the shop, I turned to see Cheryl walking toward the chair – 6 inch heels, impeccable make-up, stunning jewelry and 5 inch hoop earrings… – resting in the seat.
“Just like my husband” – as she sat motionless – the same tissue and cape routine as mine. As I exited the restroom and walked over to have a seat, I could see Cheryl trying her best to look over at me, but the old guy had her head firmly pressed down. With a quick gesture – I could read her lips.
“Love you babe” and with that, Cheryl submitted to the clippers, eyes closed for the duration of the haircut. She is in her happy place.
To be continued…