Gimme a head with hair -- long, beautiful hair ...
I got my hair cut today. At my age, I am grateful I still have hair to cut. I get it cut very short. Nothing to maintain, and somebody told me a while ago that short hair makes me look younger -- that is frosting on the bonus cake. Also, should I happen to have an unexpected opportunity to do some tropical snorkeling arise, then I am prepared. Long hair is a pain when donning a face mask.
When I was younger I got my hair cut at a barbershop. Barbershops in days gone by were havens of masculinity. Smelling like bay rum and Brylcreem, a lad's first visit to the local barbershop was kind of an initiation into manhood. It was a guy place. Copies of the Police Gazette, or Field and Stream on the coffee table, lots of chat about sports, hunting, fishing and, in muted tones if kids were present, broads. The barbershop I went to even had a shoeshine boy (when men still shined their shoes), and some guys even came in for a shave with a straight-razor. Never had one of those.
I haven't been to a barbershop in years. For about 15 years Cindy has cut my hair. I like that. I like it when she massages my scalp when she shampoos me (barbers never shampooed a guy), I like the fact she is very cute, and very nice, and never talks about sports. She does talk about motorcycles, however. She and her husband are Harley tourers and they try to go to the gathering at Sturges, S. Dak. every year. That is something out of my realm of experience, but I listen attentively, regardless, just because she is cute and nice and has been tending to my tonsorial needs for a long time.
When I was younger I used to wear my hair long. In high school I would spend a half hour in front of the mirror getting the greasy waterfall 'just so.' No small art, that. "No, Ma, don't ask me to wash my hair. It would take me days to get my hair right again." Now I wash my hair every day, and couldn't imagine not so doing. It would be like going without a shower or change of underwear. Quite unspeakable. Later, in the so-called hippie era, I wore my hair even longer. Down to the shoulders. I looked like a pretentious asshole daytripper -- which is basically what I was. It wasn't me. I was happy when styles changed back to slightly shorter locks. I wasn't yet ready for truly short, but liked the mussy, windblown look of the sort sported by Alan Bates in The Go-Between. If that style was sufficient to melt Julie Christie's heart, it was good enough for me. I kept it that way for too many years.
So, now I wear my hair real short. Not jailbird or street-junkie short, but short enough that I have an excuse to pay a social/professional call on Cindy at least once a month.