The Haircut

I slept like a log last night after yesterday’s frustrations. When I awoke I walked down to David e Francesco’s hair salon to make an appointment for a cut and color as my gray hairs are beginning to show. The man at the desk told me they could take me right away and led me off to a chair. The nice, black, protective robe he gave me did not close across my front by about 8 inches; however a woman who walked in after me could wrap hers around 1½ times like one of those wraps skirts popular in the 70’s. Not an auspicious beginning.

A nice looking man poked around my head and asked me what color I wanted, and then a young woman came to assist him. Apparently the application of highlights is a team effort. The man carefully applied the highlights while the assistant handed him the foils. I thought the man was a stylish dresser with some sort of large metal chain detail on his belt until I noticed that it was actually a kind of small utility belt. On his left hip was a holster with that handles of about 15 pairs of shears sticking out.

After my highlights were in, the assistant was responsible for applying the rest of my haircolor, roots first, then the ends. While I waited for the color to develop I could observe other women benefitting from the same team approach to hair color I’d received. A hairdryer was installed above my head on a long retractable arm rather like a cherry picker and another station had a similar contraption but with 6 lamps in a spherical arrangement on it. I imagine the lamps help hair color develop when turned on, but I admit to a sneaking suspicion that, late at night, it’s used for Frankensteinesque surgical procedures and I was glad I’d come during the day! Perhaps the lamp is used to cultivate hair growth which might explain the luxuriant crop of neck hair on the bespectacled man I saw leaving the shop one evening a couple weeks ago! After 30 minutes I was taken back to the sinks where I received the more wonderful, gentle hair wash and head massage. Bliss!

Finally a third person, a young woman, then began my haircut. My only stipulation to her was that my hair not be too short. Well, she cut…and cut…and cut. Toward the end I noticed I was holding my breath and my leg was tingling where my clamped hand had cut off the circulation. After the shearing, er….haircut, I stumbled to the counter, apparently in a state of shock as I could not answer the owner, David (or was it Francesco?), when he asked if I liked my hair. Now, I am not a poker player at the best of times and my distress must have been apparent on my face. The best I could choke out in Italian is, “Maybe now I am a boy.” The poor man was so upset that he ran around the counter and explained that the stylist had employed the latest natural hair cutting techniques currently all the rage in Italy and he showed me the haircut from all angles with a mirror. Because he was so concerned, and the dear stylist so obviously upset, I resisted the urge to inform him that farmers in Scotland have been employing these shearing techniques on sheep for eons. He pointed out I looked younger and felt sure in a week I’d like my hair. Another man kindly came up behind me and ran his fingers through the back of my hair which is always enough to make me weak in the knees. Actually, David (Francesco?) with his earnest blue-gray eyes, dark hair, and little strip of chin hair talking to me from a distance of about 12 inches was enough to make me weak in the knees; however the fact that I now resembled a small boy on his first day of school rendered me unable to flirt. Ok, I actually don’t know how to flirt, but if I did know how I’d have been tempted.

I stumbled home and fought the urge to pour a stiff one while I tried to “fix” my hair, to no avail. My hair really does go into a state of shock when it’s first cut and there’s no doing anything with it for 7-10 days. My new boyish looks also make those spam emails I frequently receive advertising that I can “grow my penis 1-3 inches” take on a sinister new meaning. Additionally, a fashion dilemma has now reared it's ugly head. Shall I wear false eyelashes and big earrings and try to look female, or I should wear a black t-shirt and quit shaving my beard to have that much desired transvestite look so popular in certain circles? Choices, choices! How will I ever decide? I wonder how much they charge for a session with that hair growing machine….