Getting a haircut

On Sunday we went into town to do some laundry and I spotted a barbershop doing haircuts for $7. So while Von watched Bentley and waited for the clothes to get done I went in for a haircut. A lot of people, mostly kids, were waiting but I was promptly seated with a Hispanic woman who spoke little English. She understood enough that when told her to just use a number 2 comb and zap it all of she did just that.

She then asked in broken but understandable English if I wanted to have my beard trimmed. Since it was getting unruly I said yes but rather than use a pair of scissors as I anticipated she took the clippers and shortened one side of my mustache to almost nothing. I nearly clipped her myself but what was done was done and she finished me off, telling me it was summer and I needed it short and that I had lots of hair and that it would soon grow back.

Here I am. My ’stache hasn’t been this short since the night I got drunk in the seventies and shaved it all off for two days and then let it grow back.