Oh The Indignity

I got my hair cut last night. If it would grow long without annoying me, I'd let it grow forever. It isn't just the waste of half an hour to an hour getting it cut that bugs me. The stylist (sadly, the noble profession of barber appears dead, and long ago I made peace with that reality) didn't just do the normal hair; she removed the hair that grows on my ears, in my ears, trimmed my mustache, and even trimmed my eyebrows. At least she didn't go up my nose, but I know it won't be long before that indignity arrives. And at the end comes the mirror ritual -- oh they claim it's so you can see what kind of job they did in the back, but no barber ever did that to me. Nope, it's to remind you of the Al Gore spot, so you can see how much it's grown since the last haircut. The cruelest cut of all - as a man ages, the hair grows ever more luxurient where nobody wants it, but retreats from just where you want it. When I told my loving spouse about all the extra removal, she asked why they didn't go after my back while they were at it.