Haircuts

I'm a child of the sixties. I wore my hair long, and sported Earth Pants and beads. I sewed a peace sign to the hem of my pants. Then I joined the Army. The Army was full of hippies in the mid '70s. My hair was cut in accordance with Army Regulations, and I learned that short hair had a decided advantage in the field. It didn't attract lice, or get greasy, or get caught in stuff. Tanks are full of stuff to capture hair.

When I came out of the Army, I noticed that the neighborhood barbershop had closed. Guys were getting "styles". By the mid '80s, the predominate hairstyle was damned near bouffant. I wasn't playing. Still in the Reserves, I got my monthly haircut the week before drill. I would tell the stylist to put a number four guard on a pair of clippers and go crazy. For a while, I got a discount at one place as long as I didn't tell anyone where I got my hair cut.

One day I was wandering through Wal-Mart and saw a set of clippers. Cool. No more paying for haircuts. I conned my daughter into cutting my hair in the kitchen. After two cuts, I had depreciated the investment. For the past five years I have been getting my haircuts for free. Milady cuts it in the kitchen, or my daughter is pressed into service. The grandkids get the whack-treatment too, when they sit still long enough.

I've offered to return the favor and cut Milady's hair, but she demurs, preferring the attentions of the sylist at the shop down the road. There is probably chit-chat in that place. I wouldn't know.

The difference between a good haircut and a bad one, is two weeks.