My Dad's been fighting a haircut for months. His balding hair is getting long and straggley in the back and still he resists a trip to the barber. "You cut it," he requests. Which I've done in the past I'm ashamed to admit. Not that it's horrendous, but I just ain't no hairstylist.
This weekend was the end of the road for his graying elf-locks. On the way to a birthday party I pulled up in front of a turquoise blue shop. "Chello!" I commanded in my bossiest voice. (Note: not that I have one, I must have conjured it from the ether...)We walked into the shop which was populated by three men casually lounging in barber chairs. It's a little dingy, sagging floors, pictures of thong-clad girls pasted on the walls. Red Bull and Gatorade's litter the counter. It looks just like a scene from the Movies - Barbershop 1 - 5.
"We'd like a cut and clean up for my father" I tell the guy clearing a chair for us. Sure he replies, indicating that Dad be seated. But Dad isn't paying attention. He's rifling through the magazines for something to read. His eyes light up and he clutches one as he's seated. It's a Playboy. A freaking Playboy. With Leeann Tweeden on the cover. Who the hell is Leeann Tweeden and why is my Dad checking out her tatas?
Julio expertly trims and buzzes Dad's coif with masculine ritual. Say what you will about women and their nails, men are just as habitual. And Dad's greatly enjoying this ritual. He graciously thanks Julio for an excellent job. I handsomely tip Julio who smiles like a gentleman but still checks out my booty.
Dad is all smiles as he checks out his 'do. "We'll come again," he says. I'd like to think the lure is the pampering, not Leeann...
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