Back in the previous century, when we were young and just married, my husband confided that he dreaded going to the barbershop. As a child, he felt intimidated by the boisterous, sports oriented place to which his mother sent him. Another traumatic experience happened at college when an intruder frightened everyone in the shop located in the basement of the student center. Therefore, being a new and devoted wife, I offered to cut his hair. We went shopping for appropriate scissors and clippers. He never complained when the results were less than flattering and I eventually got good at this task.
Husband does recount one positive, truly lovely experience in an elegant barbershop in a European hotel. He was in Belgrade on a business trip and in need of grooming. Not only was the atmosphere relaxing, but after the haircut he had a scalp massage. Now I had to add this service to my repertoire.
Years passed. I cut my husband’s hair. I cut my daughters’ hair. I cut my own hair. And, one day, I even cut my son-in-law’s hair at his request. Now my daughters cut their husband’s, sons’, and daughter’s hair. A family tradition that was born in a loud inner-city barbershop.
Now we are old. I still cut my husband’s hair and trim his ears and neck. It may be thin on top but his ears make up for it. Unfortunately, there have been a number of months in the past few years when I have been unable to provide this service. Husband found that the local chain of shops that I will call CCC (convenient cheap cuts) is quiet, efficient, and pleasant and not so bad for emergencies. Oh, if you should ask who cleans up? He does, and very thoroughly.