My Stylist

My stylist cut off over half a foot of my hair--just before he left for DC.

I told him to cut off 5 inches, then said, "No, better make that 4 inches just to make room for any mistakes."

What I really meant, was "Please cut off the damaged, dry straw at the end, but leave the good stuff.

Unfortunately, I didn't say so.

Then I pointed to some obscure place on my back--which was pretty silly on my part, since I don't have eyes in the back of my head.

So Mark, given those excellent instructions, went to work.

I figured cutting the ends of my hair would be a cinch--since by the time you get to the bottom of what I have, it's pretty thinned out and there isn't much down there.

So, after a few minutes, I got a bit impatient and said, "Aren't you done yet?"

I should have known something was up when he said, "Well, no, there's a lot of hair."

I'm not really that particular. I'd actually toyed with the idea of just clipping off the end of my braid. No matter where I go to get my hair cut, it always looks a mess, so I figured I'd just have Mark lop off the ends and be done with it.

Well, lop he did.

It took him a significant amount of time, mostly because he wanted to make sure that he did a good job, but also because he was square in the midst of the thickest part of my flowing locks--and there was a lot of hair.

When he was done and I turned around, I had to suppress my reaction at all the hair that was no longer on my head. It looked like yards, and ropes, and hanks were littered across the bathroom floor.

When we measured a random hank, it was 7 inches long.

I guess I should have known better--asking a man who seeks baldness as hairstyle.

Fortunately, hair is a renewable resource.

Better yet, I love my new hair cut.