The influence of “Finally Clippered” Part1

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As I type this on my phone, I’ve just re-read the post “finally Clippered” for the 4th time this morning. I’m literally 10 feet away from the chair waiting for my haircut. My normal barber is off on Wednesday’s, but the urge to go under the clippers can’t wait. I know full well that Leonra’s mother, who fills in for her on Wednesday’s, is brutal with the clippers. She’s cut me twice in the past, both times I leave the chair shorn to the bone. She speaks choppy English at best, so communication is a mute point. The last time I sat in her chair months ago I was able to convey the lie that I was heading out of town for a few weeks and could not make it the next day for her daughter to do my cut. I left with a sore neck and a clippered nape that I swear left me bald and bleeding. She says nothing during her haircuts, almost as if she’s pissed to be there and you are the reason. The urge to say the same as last time is so strong, I have decided to say just that. Her current customer has just finished and has walked to the front to pay. She’s swept the area and is seconds from motioning for me to sit. Need to sign off, I’ll update shortly…

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