Cut

As I'm sure you don't know, I got myself a haircut recently. Instead of a simple haircut I ended up receiving an experience. In the end I forgot about the hair cutting part. Arriving at the saloon I was appropriately greeted by the greeter.

"Hi."

"Hi, I think I have a 4:30 appointment."

"Oh, yes, braydon is it?"

"Sure, braydon."

"Have a seat and Andrew will be right with you, can I offer you a cap of chino or a mocha rapper latte?"

"No thanks, I'm fine."

I sat down and flipped through a men's health magazine with a naked actor on the cover while pondering whether I just passed up a free coffee or it would have shown up on my bill. I found an article about binge drinking. Some crackpot doctor's trying to claim it's bad for you. I'll quit binge drinking when you get my life together.

I assumed the next step in my hair journey was the wash. Wrong. Andrew and I ventured up to the chair straight off. We chatted about me and my hair.

"So, how old is this haircut?" as he ran his hands lovingly through my hair.

"Ah, three or four years" as I pondered how he'd developed such a powerful infactuation with my folicle expulsions already.

"Pardon."

"Well, no, it's a shave that just grew out. I haven't had it cut by a pro in three or four years."

"Will you be able to maintain it?"

"Maintain, pardon?" Is he asking if I know how to wash my hair and comb it? Because I don't.

"Well you seem like the shaved head kinda guy, will you maintain this cut?"

"I refuse to answer that question as it will make me resent you like a mother."

We quickly decided on a gameplan that consisted almost entirely of me answering his questions with "umm, I trust you." Andrew gently placed his hand on the back of my head and whispered those words I love to hear from another man, "I'm just going to introduce some essential oils here to relax you, I'll give you a second to take that in." as he waved a tiny brown bottle under my nose. It smelled like a volkswagen van with flowers painted on the side. There, now I'm relaxed.

Now the washing? Ah no, this is the point in the haircut where you receive the massage? That's right, the massage! I'll give you a second to take that in.

When exactly did this practice start or is this saloon a blip on the saloon radar, run by a guy who couldn't decide whether to go into hairdressing or massage therapy? Of all the places on my body I could think of to massage, the scalp is down at the bottom of that list with my elbows. It's a scalp. Isn't this like massaging a piece of soft pine? Am I supposed to feel something?

This is ignoring how completely uncomfortable and borderline shocking it is to have another man begin massaging your brain case seemingly out of the blue. Should I have expected this?

"So just an oil change today? Ok, if you could slip your shoes off we'll just give your feet a good cleaning before we get going. It's all included with the oil change."

We finally moved onto the wash stage now that we were dating. Andrew proceeded to wash my hair for an hour and a half. It reminded me of grade nine when I accidentally scribbled "cram yourself mister mashinter" on an exam and spent ten minutes trying to erase non-erasable ink with an eraser. He scrubbed and massaged my head clean off.

"Is your scalp tingling?"

"Pardon."

"That tingling you're feeling on your scalp, it's a mix of rosemary and fairy dust in the conditioner I just put on."

Again, it's a piece of soft pine. The only thing tingling at this point is my guilt. I'm worried my wife will be jealous of Andrew and what we have together. Did I just cheat on her?

The actual cutting part took all of five minutes and went along quite unceremoniously. He finished up by offering me some nice styling tips. "Have some fun with it" he suggested, referring to my hair. So I went home and obliterated a cheap micky of scotch, chased my hair around the house and had tickle fights until we fell asleep in a heap in front of the fireplace. I had no idea my hair could be this much fun.