So I went in to get what I refer to as a "hair reduction" at the Hair Po-leese in Uptown. I have the opposite problem of what most guys have - I have too much hair. Sometimes I think I'm doing the opposite of going bald - by the time I'm 50, I reckon my hairline will be somewhere down by the bridge of my nose.
Being one with too much hair, I have to frequently get it cut, lest I want to look like Buckwheat. I think I've bitched about this before, but frequent haircuts = not the cheapest thing in the world. So this time I decided to buck up and install every ounce of trust I had in McKenzie (my hair reduction specialist) and tell her to hack off as much as she could without making me look like a complete tool. I do a good enough job of that on my own and don't need anything more to enhance my tool-ness. She took my request to heart, busted out a nice new razor and got down to business.
I have to take my glasses off during haircuts to enable full access to my lovely locks and ensure a thorough hair reduction procedure. This always makes it interesting, because as I'm watching piles and piles of hair fall down my backwards cape, I look up at the giant mirror and all I can see is a really blurry version of what's happening to my head. For all I knew, she could have been fashioning my mop into a fresh mullet. Or making me look like Richie Cunningham. Or giving me the square military crew cut look. Thankfully that wasn't the case.
Haircut complete. There were mounds of my hair on the floor. Off came the cape and on went the glasses. "Holy crap!" says I, "my head is so tiny!" But she done a real good job. I walked out tall and proud like a bird chested momma's boy should. On the way to the car I was winking and hitting on every person I crossed paths with and even got whistled at a few times. Granted the only people out there was a motorcycle gathering of some sort and I was surrounded in an ocean of 200 fat old leather-clad men.. but hey - I was workin' that shit.
Now my only problem is seeing my new self in mirrors. At first glance, I get a little scared wondering who that is on the other side of that window. But then I realize the 'window' is not a window, it's a mirror. And that's ME I'm seeing. Ladies and gentlemen, my dapper new look has given me the mentality and judgement of a parakeet. For those of you unaware, birds think their reflections are other birds and sit there and peck at their reflection (or even try to fight it sometime.) Birds are either stupid or really bored.
I loves the new doo. Eventually I'll get used to my new reflection in mirrors and everything will be fine again. Until then, when I wake up in the middle of the night to pee, I need to make sure I wrap towels around my hands before I turn the light on, otherwise I might cut myself when I punch the mirror.
