You Don’t Have To Be A Druid To Have Rituals
WE’RE INTO A TIME OF SEASONAL CHANGE so I have begun to undertake the sacred seasonal rituals. Not wishing to offend the minor gods of calendar page turning I started getting into these rituals today.
I got a haircut.
As I have begun aging from being a responsible adult down the slippery slope into Geezerhood I have noticed that my hair does not grow as quickly as it used to. I also noticed that there are fewer hairs to cut than there were back when. At least the thinning of my cranial forest is evenly distributed. I’m not waking up, looking in the bathroom mirror and seeing a clear cut landing site on my skull. Thank heaven for small favors.
I refuse to insult myself and the world by doing a ridiculous comb over. When there is not enough hair left to sensibly comb I will get out the weed eater and get to work. I see too many men my age growing a fringe of hair long enough to reach their knees and then flopping it over from one ear to the other. It looks like the devil and it is not fooling anyone. Bald as a Honeydew Melon looks better than a poor copy of the fringe hanging from the bottom of vest stuck on a 60’s Hippie.
So…this morning, in keeping with the sacred rituals that go back into the misty dimness of history – even as far as the 1980s, I went to get that haircut.
Every time I go to that joint next door to the Kroger’s Supermarket I get a new person cutting my hair. I don’t know if that means they are serious about “promoting from within” or their employees quit after taking one look at my head. I’m concerned that their faces will begin to show up on the sides of milk cartons… or maybe shampoo bottles. Today’s “Cutter du jour” was very pleasant and didn’t seem to be afraid.
“So, in the past you got a #9 clipper on top and a #3 on the sides. Is that what you’d like today?”
I just have to assume that I am a #9 and #3 Combo kind of guy. What do I know? Nothing.
“Yeah, that sounds about right. I want it short.”
I take off my glasses and put my head in the hands of yet another complete stranger.
She moves with a confident speed as she tells me about a fellow who came into the shop last week who had attempted to cut his own hair. That’s a risky stunt at best. The guy removed his hat to show her the results of his DIY efforts. He had purchased a cheap clipper and it died when he was only halfway through his foray into Haircut Hell. She was shearing my locks while laughing so hard I was afraid for my eyebrows. I should not have worried. She was quick, capable, and fearless. I had walked through their front door at precisely 9:00 AM and I pushed my way out of that same door at 9:13 AM.
Turn that woman loose in the Amazon Basin and it would look like the Libyan Desert within weeks. She did a nice job on my head. My hair is shorter, but I swear it is grayer now than when I sat down in her chair.