Anyway, a mime suddenly appears and starts talking about how he saved $760 by combining his home and auto insurance. And the next words you hear, coming from the baby no less, are: "OK, does it bother anyone else that only the mime is talking? F-R-E-A-K-Y!!!"
Well, that freaky feeling is a little bit of what I experienced in my visit yesterday to the NAS Oceana barber shop. I think you'll understand why after I explain what happened.
I just had hung up my coat and hat and was going to have a seat when a woman at the far end summoned me to her chair. I purposely had arrived when I knew business would be anything but booming, so I wasn't surprised to get such quick service.
I hustled my buns (as best you're gonna get out of me these days) down to the chair and took a seat without even having to show my ID card as usual. In no time, the lady had the apron on me and asked how I wanted it, which nearly always causes me to burst into outright laughter. I mean--let's be realistic here. When you have no more hair than I do, just how much is ANY barber (or magician, for that matter) going to be able to do with it.
I've more than once---just for grins and giggles--considered asking for a DA, like I once wore in high school, but I don't figure I could do it with a straight face. So, instead, I just ask for the "regular," with an eyebrow trim. I mean, after all, I certainly don't want to resemble the late-Andy Rooney. And, too, I feel like I have to ask for something extra, given the fact it takes 'em all of about 10 seconds on a bad day to cut what hair I now have. Every trip I make to the barber shop these days, and it's been this way for a very long time, is like your first haircut at boot camp--zip, zip, and you're out of the chair.
Yesterday was no different--up to the point where this lady barber let me have a look in the mirror, and I said OK, great job. Thanks.
I then heard her grab something off the working shelf behind her and just figured she was going to give me a shot of what I've always called "spoof juice." It's just that smelly stuff that barbers sometimes still slap on around your ears and the back of your neck, like they always used in the days when they shaved those areas with a straight razor.
I automatically shut my eyes, in case she, like other barbers I've had over the years, got a little too flamboyant with her application. However, that familiar slap to the back of my neck and around the ears never came. I instead opened my eyes to find a mist of powder (or so it appeared) settling around my head. She then started massaging the powder into my ol' noggin'. I wasn't sure if she was trying to make me smell good or perhaps to ward off some evil spirits she might have sensed had taken me over.
In any event, I just sat there quietly and let her do whatever it was she was doing because it really didn't feel half bad. And so what if I did find it a little freaky? It didn't cost me anything extra.
Epilog
What's a little more funny about this story is how it came together for me. In the early hours this morning, the blue light on our heat pump just had kicked on--I know, because I suddenly got hot and had to come out of part of my sleep attire. And just so you know, I'm not going through male menopause--I've already been there, done that, and have the T-shirt to prove it.
Anyway, as I was shedding my shirt, it occurred to me that, in all the years I've been getting haircuts, I've never experienced what that lady did to me yesterday. At the same moment, that TV spot also popped into my head, and I knew I had the makings for a story that I just had to share with someone. Who else better than my blog readers? Hope you enjoy.
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