Yesterday I had to endure one of my least favorite things to do - get a haircut. All my life my hair has never really cooperated; it is a struggle to style it, gel it, fix it, etc...the hair goes where it wants to go and I've become okay with that. Laura however does not concede as easily as me. You wouldn't think it but something as simple and insignificant as a haircut often causes marital strife. Yesterday was no exception. What is simple and insignificant for me, not for her.

A typical dude haircut should not be that difficult; a 20 minute task that costs about 12 bucks + a tip. Every time I go to a barber it looks like I got run over by a lawnmower or they are sending me to Iraq. High and tight pretty much sums it up. So now I endure the uncomfortable environment of a salon. I hate walking into those places. It is just not my scene. Typically I will get a good intentioned girl right out of cosmetology school who instead of high and tight wants to make my hair crooked and uneven with maybe a few chunks missing - depending on how much she is talking to me. I can't win.

The futility of it all has caused me to seek consolation in my beautiful, well-groomed wife who makes me appointments at the place she gets her hair done. This adds a twist to the ordeal: now besides getting a haircut I also have to endure getting shampooed. I really don't want anyone washing my hair. It is awkward and redundant because I just washed it 30 minutes before I walked through the door. Plus it reminds me of washing my dog Peppy (RIP) as a kid. I finally get comfortable with it and this time they throw me off by giving me a dude. Yeah, I have this dude dressed in a tight vest with no t-shirt underneath lathering me up and scrubbing me down. All I see is arm pit. It is B.S.

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