Conversations with My Barberette

Photo from better hair times...

Some time ago, in another place, my hair limitations started becoming evident.

Woman hair stylist: So, how do you want it this time?

I: Make me look like a movie star.

Woman hair stylist: (After studying me with pensive frown) Hmmm,…Gene Hackman okay?

For the last ten or so years, I’ve been getting my hair cut by a different woman. She’s a trained, experienced hair stylist too . Styling seems too grandiose a term for what is possible with the hair I can now offer to work with, so I simply refer to her as my barberette.

In the earlier part of the new millennium, we did ponder the possibilities together.

She: So, what would you like today?

I: A haircut that makes me the desire of women and the envy of men.

She: So, clean up the sides and a little off the top?

I: You’re the expert.

Another time:

She: So, how do you want it this time?

I: Make me look like a rock star.

I: (After she finishes): This supposed to be rock star?

She: Phil Collins!

I: Actually, I was thinking of something more like Jon Bonjovi but, yeah, I guess I can see it.

And another time:

I: I gotta say it kinda hurts to see so much inter-spatial hair-gapitis after you finish.

She: What? You’ve still got lots of hair.

I: I only look like I have hair to people who are shorter than I.

She: **snort**

My barberette does excellent work, yet, I’ve reached the point where the possibilities are so limited that she no longer asks how I want it “this time.” Apparently, the only remaining solution manifests itself without requiring verbal description - a case of simplicity over style with, sadly, a dearth of substance of the top-hair variety.

Somehow, life still goes on.