I ask my barber for the “full works”, sit back, and close my eyes for half hour listening to whatever generic chilled dance playlist he’s got going on YouTube. It could be a dude, a woman, or anything in between, it doesn’t matter.
When he slaps my shoulders and says “ok boss, what do you think?”, that’s my cue to get up and leave.
It’s my brief moment of indulgence every other month or so. Bliss.
You forgot the bit where they hold up a second mirror and you nod awkwardly, mumbling something that’s not quite ‘yep, that’s the back of my head, yep, I agree, you have cut my hair, thank you for showing me the proof’
As pleasant as that looks, it matters not to me.
I ask my barber for the “full works”, sit back, and close my eyes for half hour listening to whatever generic chilled dance playlist he’s got going on YouTube. It could be a dude, a woman, or anything in between, it doesn’t matter.
When he slaps my shoulders and says “ok boss, what do you think?”, that’s my cue to get up and leave.
It’s my brief moment of indulgence every other month or so. Bliss.
You forgot the bit where they hold up a second mirror and you nod awkwardly, mumbling something that’s not quite ‘yep, that’s the back of my head, yep, I agree, you have cut my hair, thank you for showing me the proof’
My barber and I do a joke every time about how he’s going to shave ‘twat’ on the back of my head some time.
In fairness, I always ask for a really straightforward clippers cut which even Stevie Wonder would find remarkably difficult to fuck up.
Nah the barber I use is sound as fuck. Happy to throw about witty banter, but equally happy to shut up and do his thing when I’m just about asleep.