The salon

Men don't take care of themselves as well as women do. Maybe that's why we don't live as long as women. If you see a man who takes great care of his appearance, for example, we think he's vain. That may or may not be true; I don't know. All I knew as I was walking to the hair salon on Oct. 3 was I was in for a new experience.

You see, my barber, Randy, moved his operation to another town 30-40 minutes away (depending on traffic). So, I was forced to either find another place to cut my hair or travel to see his grumpy ass. Let me tell you, the woman who cut my hair was much more agreeable than good ol' Randy. 

Sometimes change is good. That's my point. Just because my barber moved away doesn't mean I have to be dismayed. I don't have to follow him, either. He's perhaps too John-Wayne disagreeable anyway. One time he asked me what I wanted, and I replied, "A regular haircut." "What's that?" he sputtered. Another time I went in and described how I wanted my hair cut and before leaving I asked what he called it, to which he replied, "A regular haircut." Very puzzling. And he always asked me where I was getting my hair cut. Here, Randy, here. I must have a forgettable face. 

Anyway, the lady at the hair salon didn't complain that I looked like a wooly mammoth. She was nice, understanding, said many men had been streaming in after Randy moved his shop, like, "Well, it's been two months, maybe I should get a haircut somewhere else." She cut my hair better than Randy, too. Sorry, but it's true. 

Why am I writing about my damn hair again? Haha, good question. See, I'm an extremely loyal person. I will go someplace I don't even want to go just because that's where I go. I'm slowly learning I don't have to do that. If it's not good for me (and it's not when I have to spend two hours getting a haircut instead of 20 minutes), then I'm going to look for a better solution. It's the same as any other relationship. I've learned it has to be good for me, too, not just them. 

My forehead got a little taller. And I tried to smile, but it was hideous. Like an angry shrew.

It only took me 42 years to figure that out. I never said I was a quick learner. Would I still be going to Randy if he hadn't moved? Yes, probably, even though I enjoyed nothing about it and dreaded it. Would I still be in a bad relationship with my ex if I hadn't realized I didn't have to put up with it? Yes, of course. But the difference is I have to get a haircut. I mean, at least once in a while. But I don't have to be in any relationship, much less a bad one. Considering I am a relatively docile, passive, laid back, and perhaps easily manipulated person and don't typically seek out the best for myself, it's nice when something good happens on its own. Even if it's just a haircut.

I may never take care of my appearance as much as a woman does. I may never take care of my appearance as much as other men do either. But at least I know I have options, some better than others. And it doesn't have to be a bad experience. So, I made an appointment for another haircut at the salon in November. And I tipped her as always when I get a haircut. The rest of the day, I felt lighter because I'm always surprised when someone is nice to me, like I walked through a door to a place where only beautiful things happen, a place I surely don't belong.

So, I thank God for a good haircut and a good experience. I'm slowly learning I don't deserve to feel awful or under someone's thumb all the time. Growth is sometimes incremental and slow. So, on Oct. 3, I felt I grew a little. In a good way. 

Thanks for following my haircuts. And the weird things I connect to them.