It has been 3 months since my last haircut. Today that has all changed.
I looked at my hair in the mirror, and it was straight, hippiesh, John Lennon-esque on top. Then it flared out like a mushroom at the bottom. My look was bleak at best. So I did what I had to do. I called my super duper Gay and Glamourous hairdresser for assistance.
I love this man. I would be his fag hag if he asked me to.
I walked in and he came up to me and said, "Hi babe," and gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Then he took one look at me and exclaimed, "You desperately need a haircut!" as he flipped and toussled my hair. He was determined to change my look. (again)
He cut my hair and asked me the standard, "Have you found your heartthrob yet?"
"No, I havent. I've met nice guys, but no heartthrob," I said. (Do people still use the word heartthrob?!)
"Look at you, you're such a hottie. You are the complete package!" he said as he flashed his baby blues in my direction. (Now do you understand why I keep him?)
He proceeded to razor cut off about 2 pounds of hair. I looked to the ground and saw what looked like a premature bear cub, but it was all my hair. He blow dried and styled my hair, and sent me on my merry way. Before leaving, he said, "Next time you come in, we're going to put even more red highlights in your hair!"
That made me weak in the knees. He's so good to me.
Today I look pretty damn sharp. I should schedule my haircuts on days I go into NYC, and not on the days where I go back home, change into sweats, and hang out in front of the TV.