Haircut

Prior to yesterday, it had been approximately three months since my last haircut. My plan was to let my hair grow out a little, then get a different style. I didn’t have anything in particular in mind, really. I don’t trust myself to make these kinds of decisions, so I planned on going to a nicer-than-usual place and instructing the stylist to use his/her imagination.

(After a lead-in like that, you’re expecting me to tell you that I have a purple mohawk. Sorry, it’s not that exciting.)

I picked a place out more or less at random yesterday morning and went there. The guy who cut my hair was named Marco. After I let Marco in on my plan, he looked me over and told me that highlights would give my hair body and make it look less thin.

“I’m not talking about making you look gay or queer. Just a little change. I think it would look really nice.”

I told him I’d think about it.

While he cut my hair, he asked if I was married or had a girlfriend. I told him no. He took this as an opportunity to dispense some free advice.

“You should consider these highlights. Different glasses, different clothes. You’d be amazed at the change and how confident you’d feel. My brother is just like you.”

I’m sure he is, Marco.

Once he finished giving me a trim, he brought out the swatches of hair and told me what he wanted to do. I considered letting him do it for, as Lt. Commander Data said, “Zero point six-eight seconds”. Then I thanked him politely for his advice and declined. What kind of man dyes his hair? Not this cowboy.