I went to a barbershop once when I was a kid. I was walking home with my friend, and he had an appointment. I couldn’t stay, because I had something to do—not sure what, probably pick up my little brother. Still, I spent enough time in the barbershop to decide that its charm was my cup of tea. I think barbershops and salons are a social gem.
Every quarter it’s like clock work, and I find myself back in that black leather swivel chair. In fact, I had a hair appointment this morning, and I always like to say that I went in for a session of “hair therapy,” because it is. I go in, and I get my hair washed, which is nice and relaxing, and is like getting my head massaged. Then I basically get pampered while chitchatting away with my stylist. We talk about our families, school, how big her kids are getting, my romantic adventures and mishaps, health and fitness, and you name it! See? Very therapeutic!
I really value this hour with her, because it’s essentially “me” time. Plus, I always walk out feeling pretty, and who doesn’t want to feel that way? It’s really hard finding someone who you can trust with your hair. I’m always deathly afraid when I move to another city. Sometimes I try to wait it out until I come back home, but other times I can’t. No one has yet to live up to her precious chopping hands. She knows me and she knows my hair. She knows that my hair is very different, and requires different attention.
I don’t think men are as picky with their hair, but I think those old time barbershop places had a good point. Somehow, I feel like people are missing out if they don’t have one place to go to that feels like home for their hair. Silly? Maybe. Either way, no one touches my hair except for Larayne!
BIG LOVE & HUGS