...SEXAY?! Say that in a high pitched tone and it's even funnier. And if you're The Almighty Teepacolypse, it should make even more sense.Being broke is a bitch, isn't it? Not that I'm so broke to the point of sitting outside stores in ragged clothing and begging (with a pseudo cockney accent) for alms. I've considered it...a great many times as well. Be even better were I proficient with an instrument so it wouldn't exactly feel like begging; rather it would be an exchange of sorts. This for that, quid pro quo, if you will.
One of the many things I've pushed to the wayside has been real haircuts. And before you think I was running around town all hippie like, know that I was having my wild mane maintained, but not up to desired standards. Instead of a stylist's chair, I sat atop a kitchen stool. Instead of a skilled cutter trained in modernity, I was at the mercy of a 68 year old woman who, while once very skilled with scissors herself, is stuck in the past as far as men's hairstyles go. Left to her own devices with my hair, I would have been closer to Greg Brady then any of the douche bags from Jersey Shore; though I can't say that's a bad thing.
Now that I'm what MARVIN would call gainfully employed, I've a few more bucks to spend on frivolous things, haircuts being one of them. So excited I was to finally sit down in a proper hair care chair and let Tara do her magic.
Per ettiquette, Tara asked, "how are we going to cut you up today?"
Simple responses not being my thing, I responded with, "I want to look so good that I question my own sexuality when I look in a mirror."
To that end, she failed, but I am more than happy the way things turned out.
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