Pretty, thought I. She was young with golden hair and subtle features. I don't expect to ever see her on the cover of Vogue, but she's much more attractive than the girl-next-door. I suppose we both shared an uneasy feeling of unfamiliarity as she went about that which I requested. An excellent choice of perfume, thought I, although I can never really be sure if it's the perfume itself or the combination of chemistries. In any event, she smelled better than Patti ever did. She was clearly younger and prettier than Patti, but I can't say with any confidence that she's more skilled. She hardly spoke and I not at all. I suppose that's normal. After all, we didn't know each other and it was the only time she'd ever cut my hair.
My godfather cut his own hair. He told me years ago that he made the decision to cut his own hair when he realized that the barber was doing more hunting than cutting. I haven't reached that point yet, but clearly it is inevitable. With each passing year I lose more and more hair. More correctly, I should say, I fail to replace hair more with each passing year. That's the thing. Everyone loses hair. Some of us don't replace the hair we lose.
In my twenties, it was Joyce who cut my hair. I never felt that I took her for granted, but when she retired, I was at a loss. I bounced around a bit before landing with Patti several years back. It was Patti for a few years and I remained loyal to her. Patti was never very good at cutting hair, but since I wasn't too particular I kept going back. I figured she'd get better in time. She was very friendly and personable and had a huge laugh; just the kind you'd expect from a hairdresser. In fact, if I could create a great hairdresser – it would be Patti . . . with skill.
In fairness, it was probably an over-inflated importance of time on my part that caused me to notice Patti's increasing lack of punctuality. That caused the split. I left and never looked back. That was four years or so ago. Since I left Patti I haven't had the same barber/hairdresser two times in a row. I thought of her yesterday while the young doll worked silently on my hair. I couldn't even remember Patti's name. It's a shame. For getting a haircut might be a very minor event in one's life, it is an event. To not have a familiar face examining my sideburns evenness is to have one less person in my life. That's the thing. Everyone loses someone. Some of us don't replace the people we lose.
I think I'll call Patti when my hair grows back. If it does grow back.
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