Trials of the Haircut
Got a haircut today. The nearest place was a salon called Bubbles. Seriously, what straight guy would saunter into Bubbles and not expect a permit up coif reminiscent of Justin Timberlake when he was with NSync. Bubles. Instead went to the Hair Cuttery and had a older chap named Doug cut my hair.

When I walked in, this heavy set and very tan guy with a Hawaiian t-shirt and loafers stood examining the "hair jellies" - per George Clooney in O' Brother Where Art Thou. I went to the counter and this guy stood directly behind me. Uncomfortably behind me. He said "Come on back" - I was a little weirded out. Turned out this was Doug. He immediately told me to call him Doug, although his name was Dudley. We embarked on a magical journey of discovery with me dumbly nodding to his eloquations on nicknames. His good girl friend - "not my girlfriend, but you know ... my best friend who is a girl" calls him DeeDee. His best party friend from the sixties calls him Dolly. His best "crazy-pyscho friend" calls him Roy. His words. His friends.

Several years ago, my middle brother went to get a haircut at some innocuous place across the street from his apartment. He was the only patron and the haircutter or stylist or whatever really took a shine to my brother. "what music ya listen to?" My brother - "Lots of stuff." Silence. Silence. Haircutter - "I gotta van, ya got any friends who want to go to Cincy to see a concert?" My brother - "I think that's short enough, actually I'm gonna let my hair grow out." He put some money on the counter and left. He had a great time at the concert.

I thought about my brother's experience as this odd fella snipped around my ears and eyes with sharp implements. Doug's own hair was a gray permed ball of thin little hairs. Looked like a really old poodle's hair. A little mangy and matted. I went to my happy place. It turned out ok, but he double checked my address in the computer. I shall double check my locked door tonight.