Haircuts...

Just the other day, I happen to walk by a barber shop. As I stood at the door mesmerized by the constant swirling of the blue, white and red striped cone next to the door, I began thinking about what getting a haircut really is. I imagined myself walking through the door into the shop, and taking a seat in waiting area looking at magazines of men with hair that is perfectly styled and fashioned in a way that my hair could never be in. (one reason why this may be is because I have curly hair and 1 out of 3 of the books they have in the store actually contain a picture of a man with curly hair, and when I finally see the picture, it looks like they added 2 larges tubs of gel onto his head to keep the frizzyness down. But generally speaking...) So as I sit waiting...still...I finally choose which style I want my hair to be done in. and after another 10 or 20 minutes waiting a seat opens up. I walk to the barber, put on their skit that goes around my neck and the paper neck choker, just to realize that I left the magazine on the table where I was sitting down. I get up to grab the magazine and realize that I do not remember what page the picture was on. So, I again walk to the barber and get in my seat in which he ask again, what style I would like my hair to be done in. Clueless I say, just cut an inch and a half off. Then the barber spins me in circles for a while until he is happy and then messes with my chair as if I am some child in a high chair waiting for dinner. After being hosed down with a spray bottle, a few snips here and there with the scissors, the barber spins me around a couple more times and faces me towards the mirror to evaluate my new look. Secretly, I'm thinking I look horrible! But, I do not want to spend another hour in the uncomfortable seat so I say it looks fine and get up to pay the cashier. After paying I walk over to the barber and give him tip, I guess for the great job he did, and then proceed out the door and on with my walk. As I continue my walk I look at the windows next to me gazing at my new stylistic look and wonder what I just did? I just payed someone to take something away from me! then tipped him? My hair is a living organism and he just killed it and through it on the floor. And for some reason I decided to pay him for the work he did. To make matters worse I did not even like the way he did it! I could have saved the $17 plus tip and cut my own hair and made it look just as bad. At this point I wake up from the day dream I was in, and look into the window of the barber shop and see i have all my hair still there. Walking away I begin to think of how weird haircuts really are...