Off the Cuff / My Other Journal

Haircut

I learned a long time ago that I can't keep up with or win over fashion to my side, but a haircut is a haircut and it is needed. Why does it have to be so trite and time-consuming though?

In the Beauty Parlor, first I sit and wait while looking at dumb magazines in the waiting area. Then Maria takes me in, and after some small talk, washes my hair. My hairdresser looks like Susan Sarandon, but she is far from her example as far as the feminist movement goes. She says, she'd love to sit home and do nothing once she finds a rich man. She also gives me pointers on how to keep a man interested. When I tell her I have been married way over thirty years, and if he is not interested by now, he'll never be interested. This is news to her, although I repeat it every time I'm there. I guess she forgets or doesn't believe me. Maybe she thinks people can't be married for so long.

Finally she gets done clipping, she holds up the mirror and makes me look. I say, "Let me put my eye-glasses on.”

She whines. "But they'll ruin the whole effect."

I have to disappoint her, for I can't see without my eyeglasses. Once I put the glasses on, first I see the mess my hair has made on the floor and notice the bright red flowers on the dress of another customer sitting next to me. Then I look at myself in the mirror.

I tell Maria she's done a wonderful job, but a haircut is a haircut. It looks okay any old way. Besides, I know, when I get home and wash up, I'll keep clipping some hairs that stick out here and there. By the next day or so, my head will look like some birds built a nest in it. It can't be helped; my hair has a mind of its own.