I just cut my hair this morning.
Over the years, many different people have cut my hair. My mom, until I got to middle school. Some nice old men in the barber shop, until I got to high school. Kev, in high school and college. After college, whichever girl I was dating, up through Nacole. Since I started losing hair basically right after I got out of college, each girl had an easier job of it than the previous one. Nacole could do the whole thing in under 10 minutes. So when she and I broke up, I figured there was so little left I might as well do the job myself. At this point, I don't even use a mirror, except at the end to verify I didn't miss a spot.
The thing is, I can trace over time the amount of hair loss by the attachment I use to do the job. So it's always depressing when I reach a point where it's time to reduce the attachment number. For instance, there once was a time when my hair was thick and wavy, and required a #4 attachment. I mourned when I had to downgrade to the #3, around when I was dating Sarah. I wailed and gnashed my teeth when it came time to downgrade to the #2, when I was dating Nacole.
Today, I finally had to downgrade to the #1 attachment. This is it- The End of the Line. The Final Attachment. There's no turning back. My hair is now military grade length; after this, it's shaving my head.
I need a sackcloth and ashes.
2 comments:
You haven't come close to the bottom. After #1, there's still using the razor with no attachment, and after that, there's the Headblade.
Some time in the last few years I went over to the all-over buzz haircut. Carrie used to do it for me, so when I was alone a few months ago I thought I'd try to do it myself. Fortunately the bathroom had a little three-mirror-door thingie that I could angle to see the back of my head. Unfortunately, the batteries ran down halfway through. And it was pouring rain, tropical shower-style (being as I'm living in the tropics, this is normal). The silver lining is that cramming a hat down to my earlobes looked quite normal as I ran to one gas station after another looking for batteries. Then I got home only to realize I'd been sold the wrong kind of battery, and had to head back out. Not my finest hour.
Since then, I've started going to EC House, a franchise based around a modular haircut bay with integrated mirror, barber chair, haircutting implements, skull vacuum on articulated arm, and a perfectly positioned television showing nothing but bad movie trailers. 10 Singdollars (US$6), 10 minutes.
I now dub thee "Monten".
In case the reference escapes you, which I suspect it probably will, google Inuyasha Monten. All will become clear.
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