Wicked
As predicted a few posts back, the goatee is off as of last Saturday. I'm back to the soul patch (a.k.a. funk chunk, as my brother has called it, or wicked spot, as an online chat buddy has called it). Also, for a couple of months I had been growing my hair out for the first time in probably a year and a half, but last Tuesday evening I decided I could not stand it one more minute -- there was just not enough there (i.e., hair) there. As if I didn't know. So I walked into one of my former salons at Dupont Circle and paid $25 plus tip to have my scalp shaved down to #1 on the clippers, a procedure for which I usually pay $13 plus tip at the barbershop in Bethesda I go to when I'm in a head-stubble phase, which I now officially am again and, I believe, will be forever more.
posted by Billy at 12:25 AM
3 Comments:
Ah, it's sad and painful to admit that one has no choice in hairstyle, that it's going to be the No. 1 setting on the clippers for the rest of one's life. The no-hair club for men.
But really, Billy, you should just buy a really good set of clippers and do it yourself. It's much cheaper and it isn't so difficult - if I can do it, you definitely can as well.
I've considered that but am both lazy and mistrustful of my dexterity. Maybe someday.
I've got mine down to about 1 cm now, but, personally, I would miss my hair stylist's futile attempts to make conversation with me.
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