The Haircut is Over

The wait is over. The haircut is finished.

Before I describe the outcome...I must digress.

I don't feel that I have given adequate information about Johnny, the stylist. He has a bit of an Antonio Banderas look...not like, the gorgeous part, but more the hair part. He has a short kind of ponytail thing like that. There is definitely some resemblance.

I am not sure how I missed it last time, but his last name...I won't mention it, of course, but it is kind of like if his name was Johnny Cool. Also, he only talks in short gravelly voice sentences. I kind of kept expecting him to take his scissors and make the zorro symbol in the air..."I am Johnny Cool. Here to style your hair". That is many more words than he would have said at one time, though.

Furthermore, I must discuss his shampooing ability. The man can shampoo. He did this thing to my forehead...it lasted for quite a while. My legs went numb at one point. Then, in his gravelly voice, he said, "Relax your neck". I did. He began doing this other thing to the back of my neck. I wasn't sure if I should say thank you or smile or tell him that it really felt nice and I appreciate his efforts. I almost couldn't completely enjoy the neck thing because I was worried about my manners. No one ever tells you how to react to such kindness in the shampoo bowl.

Back to my hair. So, upon our initial re-acquaintance, he asked what I was wanting to do with my cut. I told him I wasn't sure. He said, "Have you considered Victoria Beckham's hair?".

Seriously. What is with that? There are hundreds of other famous people with good hair. There is nothing about me that would make Posh Spice pop into your head. Does he get extra commission for each Posh Spice cut that he does? Is she his cousin? I told him I thought I wanted to grow it out.

What? That was not even an option prior to that moment. I have never - NOT EVER - had long hair. I think I was just rebelling his pressuring me into the Posh.

Then that whole shampoo thing occurred.

Back in the chair, I surrendered a bit.

"Johnny Cool?" I said weakly. (That shampoo bowl had taken its toll on me.) "What do you really think I should do with my hair?"

"Not broke, don't fix it", he graveled.

I don't really know what that meant, but I nodded in agreement.

After 45 minutes of silent cutting, I emerged with the Modified Posh. I think.