I don't like my hair. Whenever I got home from Great Clips or Fantastic Sam's I'd look in the mirror and see a guy with crew cut and something like a furry rodent on top of his head. I'm not sure why it took me so long to realize this.
In any case I decided I was done. No more haircuts for me, I'd just use the clippers I got from Wal-Mart, put on the six guard, and buzz it. Leah said she was OK with that, except somehow a few days later I had an appointment at a salon.
The salon was about five minutes from my house so I kept my appointment. Leah must have factored that in of course. She said she didn't think it was a fancy saloon, I supposed that was a good thing, but I started to get nervous when I pulled into the gravel parking lot. This isn't some old lady's house is it?
As soon as I walked in my fears were allayed. That place was hopping. "Call me Maybe" was thumping and there were people everywhere. I talked with the lady at front desk and started looking around for other males. I found two, we exchanged manly nods. Meanwhile 16 women were buzzing around the place like bees. I sat down and waited my turn.
After ten minutes or so, Buffy was ready for me. She asked what to do with my hair and I told her that was up to her. Just something low maintenance please. No I don't use product.
She clipped away and we had a nice conversation about family, school, and work. I found out she does hair and makeup for the Golf channel, and has to wake up at 2:30 AM. I told her sometimes I'm still up that late. "So you're one of those crazy people I see with the lights on!" After a little while she's stops clipping and sticks a little product in my hair anyway.
Nobody told me you had to pay with cash. So I went to the bank. I left her a good tip, took her card, and went to pick up lunch.
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