Nothing more miserable

Getting my hair cut has, in recent days, limbed the list of ‘most miserable activities, ever.’ It is number one. It combines all my least favorite things:

– complete lack of control over my appearance, since whatever I say to the stylist or barber will fall on deaf ears; "no my hair really is that crazy", "please don’t give the corky st.clair cut"
– forced small talk "so do you live nearby?" "yup." "did you walk in?" "yup." "What do you do?" "I go to seminary and am a waiter." "Oh…. neat."
– neck, ear, and scalp abuse (especially at places like great clips). Constant scraping, pulling, shaving more scraping….. ugh.

It doesn’t matter where I go, its roughly the same experience. The nicer places try a bit harder to have civil conversation despite my clear disinterest. The haircut mills (great clips, supercuts) give up after a few tries.

Where can an ornery, wiry haired, crotchety seminary student go these days for a decent haircut? My wife is to be applauded for her years of patience, and many many haircuts she has lovingly given me. Getting my haircut by her is at the top of my other list; "sweetest, most nicest ways my wife loves me."


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