Bad hair day

I received the worst haircut of my life yesterday.  That is saying something since my Mom used to cut my hair.

About once a month, or maybe six weeks, Mom would put a stool in the middle of the kitchen, drape a sheet around our shoulders and clip away. That all stopped after she bought some torture device combination razor/comb. The thing was supposed to make a home hair cut as easy as running a comb through your locks. It cut your hair in nice layers as you combed it. Otter and I took our turns. The thing did not cut, it pulled the hair. Mom and Dad thought we were just big babies as we cried at every tug and pull. Mom thought the thing worked great.  Dad thought he had raised a couple of pussies -- crying over a haircut. Things changed when it was Dad's turn on the stool. He cursed my Mom and the evil razor comb. Not long after that the Parents decided we were old enough to get our hair cut at a real barbershop.

Fast forward to yesterday. The haircut did not hurt, but it was still a hack job. I have long let the stylist at the discount place use clippers on the side and back.  They then go to work on the top with scissors and comb.  This girl used clippers on the whole thing, going in every direction possible. She did not cut the front to accommodate a part, she did not layer the hair to lay down on the top. She just clipped away. I have parted my hair for at least 40 years (I do not remember ever having a different hairstyle, it was just much longer in the 1970s). Now I guess I just comb it straight, at least until it grows out a little.

My ever-present optimistic side says it is time to try something new. My realistic side says I got a shitty haircut.