Bad hair day

Before I took my little break over July the Fourth, I got a haircut. Possessing hair all over my body except where it ought to be in abundance, on my head, this is not a common event ? although what happens has become all too familiar.

I have never liked my hair too short and I like to encourage the heroic follicles that remain on the sides by letting them grow out a bit. So I generally wait several months before going to a barber, with the result that when I do sit down in the chair I look like a cross between Einstein and Bozo the Clown.

I always say the same thing to the barber: I don’t want much off, just give me a trim please, make me look halfway respectable. The barber always nods as if he understands.

Then a gleam comes into his eye.

I have seen a cartoon titled "What dogs really hear." In the first panel, the owner is telling the dog: "You be a good dog when we go for our walk ? and don’t chase anything." The second panel explains what the dog hears when his owner speaks: "Arf, arf, arf, arf, arf, arf, arf!"

I think I could do a similar cartoon for the barbershop. I say: "Give me a trim, please" but the barber hears me say: "I don’t want to look like Einstein or Bozo the Clown and I don’t want to pay $15 for you to cut just to cut a few long and straggly hairs."

So the barber sets to the task, cutting and cutting until the sides of my head resemble the top and the all-chrome-dome look appears out of the mess, too late for me to say anything.

For the next three months, I will avoid going out as much as possible lest dogs bark and children cry. And in three months, I will return to repeat this unhappy procedure.

My question: Is there no barber in Pittsburgh who actually listens to the customer or am I doomed to walk about with my ears banging the sides of my head in the wind because the wanton nakedness of my head does not shelter them?