Shear Torture.
If hair could talk, mine would be speaking its last rites.
An inch off is what I said. Two to three-inches off is what I got. A great bang for the buck. I don’t think so. More like getting banged by a buck, in the monetary sense.
The hair-grazing experience began with seven words.
“I part your hair in the center,” she said, in a dialect reminiscent of Cloris Leachman’s Frau Blücher – horses whinny – from “Young Frankenstein.”
Frau Blücher: Would the doctor care for a brandy before retiring?
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: No. Thank you.
Frau Blücher: Some varm milk… perhaps?
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: No… thank you very much. No thanks.
Frau Blücher: Ovaltine?
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: NOTHING! Thank you! I’m a little – tired!
Frau Blücher: Then I vill say… goodnight.
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: Goodnight.
After the ceremonial parting of the hair, the radical hacking of the hair began – snip – a clump here – snip – a clump there. At the foot of the chair, all the beheaded strands of hair fell into one mountainous clumpage of hair-don’ts, all victims of la filament guillotine.
Poor frizzy dead-enders, lying lifeless and stranded with other frivolous fibers cut off from the pore of their very existence. That’s what happens when you fall to the end of the hairline. Some call it fate. “It was just their time.” Others pretend not to know me. They shake their heads and mutter, “It’s just hair.”
“Just!” I cry out. “They’re dead. I tell you. Dead!”
Monty Python Dead Parrot Sketch:
“He’s not pining, he’s passed on. This parrot is no more. He has ceased to be. He’s expired and gone to meet his maker. He’s a stiff, bereft of life, he rests in peace. If you hadn’t have nailed him to the perch he’d be pushing up the daisies. He’s rung down the curtain and joined the choir invisible. This is an ex-parrot!”
Follicly speaking, hair is the root of all evil. Case in point, Samson lost his immortal strength after Delilah shaved his head while he slept. Frankly, I’m surprised he could sleep through all the snipping and scraping, as a cold front rolled in, chilling the circumference of his unprotected bald head.
Sweeney Todd, the demon barber of Fleet Street, didn’t even pretend to take a little off. Although he did provide a service of sorts, saving his customers precious time by preventing the need for any future appointments.
I guess psychotic-leaning folks gravitate toward businesses that require the use of sharp objects.
At least, I survived my haircut. Can’t say the same for my hair. Audible sobbing and one loud purging sigh. Time to say a prayer for the dearly departed and wait for my hair to grow back, so I can regain my strength in order to go through the entire ordeal again in several weeks or less.
R.I.P. my fine fringed brittle-ones.
Do you have a hair-razing tale?
hahaha. I think my liver just secreted 10 gallons of bile. Love the dialogue with Dr. Frankenstein. "Then I vill say… goodnight." haha. Love this killer line. On this side of the planet, when friends get a new haircut, we always kid around by saying, "Is the guy who did that dead yet?" I'll definitely enjoy hanging around here. Keep the good stuff coming Lauren. Great post!
Thanks, Ryhen.
I never know if a post works until I get feedback. Secreting 10 gallons of bile is a wonderful review. Thank you so much.
Great quotes, I agree! My hair horrors were of a perm gone horribly wrong. I have super-fine hair that does, well, nothing, actually. But when given a perm, my hair started breaking off, at about 2" from the scalp. Not all of it, thankfully. But along my part looked like a friggin' mohawk. Thank God it was the eighties. A little pink dye later, and my dignity, if not my haircut, was salvaged. Hooray for new wave!
Lauren, you have a wonderful way of turning a phrase. Love the Python reference! Great post.
Perry,
Love your pink hair solution for the perm debacle. Thanks for your kind words about my words.
My husband and I have been watching a Monty Python retrospective on one of the cable channels.
Hi Lauren .
Actually as a man i love to have my hair short ,it's just a leftover of a past life in the military.lol
There they have a number of hairdressers skooled by edward scissorshand and you're lucky if you get out with your ears still intact.LOL
Will.
Will,
My son also likes to wear his hair short. I was trying to save money, so I went to his barber, who also cuts woman's hair. Hence the inch per cut ratio.
I'm totally reminded of the first time I had my hair professionally cut. I explained that my naturally curly hair shrank up a lot when it dried, but to no avail. They hacked it off way too short and I spent an entire year looking like Buckwheat!
Holly,
Wow! And I thought a month was bad. Living with a hair debacle for a year is truly a nightmare scenario.
Ha ha ha… reading this post is like watching a heavily emotional opera or drama. You get to know of the slightest emotion or feeling that otherwise you'd take for granted. Like the cry of pain of the dying just-cut hair. 🙂
With regards to haircuts, I am not very fond of it because the result, more often than not, do not agree with my liking. All my haircut sessions were normally followed by vocal mumblings of discontent and disappointment on my part. But that was only ok during my pre-teen years when my barber is my father (who is not a barber). Now that I have no choice but to go to a saloon or barber shop, I have to make sure my post-haircut ramblings are purely internal.
Thanks for stopping by James M. It's a good idea to keep your ramblings internal. You don't want to piss off a barber. Once asked my neighbor if he could recommend a good electrician. Apparently, his barber is also an electrician. Don't know which would be the lesser of two evils.
That was brilliant! I haven't had a hair cut in months due to a traumatic experience from an ill-advised stop at Regis.
Thanks!! Baby steps, Kys, in order to get past the trauma. Maybe just get a haircut – one piece per sitting.