Therapy and a hair cut

I've decided something.
Men get totally jipped when they get their hair cut. Except my man when I cut his hair here at home. But that's another topic completely.
I wonder if it's just that Spring is right around the corner or that Winter seems to be holding on a bit longer, or that if it's just that I want to shave my legs and put on a flouncy skirt without freezing my toosh, but I've been feeling a bit down lately. It's so easy to give in to those feelings of self pity and the grumpies, and it's not so easy to look at what's really bothering me (messy house, 10 extra pounds, and children earning a detention) and fix it. So instead of facing it all head on, I avoided it altogether and went and got my hair done. Ahhhh. Nothing better than running away from my problems.
See, I have this amazing friend who owns her own salon and she gives me the most incredible deals on haircuts and colors. I love her. And not just for her skills with the hair. Nope. She is just plain awesome. She let me whine about vent and go on and on and on about my problems, while at the same time, complaining about sharing some of her problems with me, all while cutting, coloring, massaging, and styling my hair.  Also, we flipped through a PEOPLE magazine and discussed all of the famous people's problems. Man, there are some who've got it baaaaad. I mean, Marie Osmond lost her son, Angelina Jolie is being accused of turning her daughter into a boy, and Jessica Simpson doesn't want to die alone.
We also talked about the local gossip. When will the new Costco be finished? Did you hear about so and so's car accident? Oh! And don't forget about the shirtless preacher man who lives on the corner and thinks I remind him (a lot, mind you) of Fran Drescher. It was an invigorating, refreshing visit and it was just the shot in the arm I needed to return to my real life and tackle it head on.

Now, men, on the other hand, aren't so lucky. They go in, sit down, get the hair cut, pay, and then out the door. In under 9 minutes. No gossip. No massages. Nothing. I know. I timed it. This is exactly how it went down when I took Hunter to get his hair cut last week.  

I have been wanting to take some scissors to his head for months, but the kid wouldn't let me near him. So it's been growing and growing and growing. Till it looked like his head would up and walk away on it's own if it weren't attached at the neck. Now, I know that's the style these days and all the girls like it on a guy, and all the guys love looking good for the ladies, but seriously? Who likes to get whiplash from flipping hair out of their face? And how can you tell who's even under that hair anyway? I mean it's not like you can make eye contact with the person under it. That being said, Hunter didn't look all that bad, I just prefer my boys with shorter locks. So when Hunter came home and announced that he wanted to get a hair cut, it was all I could to do keep from leaping out of my skin with joy. I played it cool and said, "Grab your jacket and get in the car."

We walked in the door, 15 minutes before the Barber Shop was scheduled to close. The barber had just finished up with his previous customer and without saying a word, gestured for Hunter to have a seat. The barber got the cape all situated and started cutting.

"Wow. That's looking good, bud!", I said.
Silence.
"Look at all that hair! I mean you really have a lot of it."

Blank stares.
"So, how long have you been cutting hair?"

"Hmmph," said the Barber.

And before I could come up with another question or statement, he whipped off the cape, brushed off Hunter's neck and proclaimed him done. Just like that. No gossip, no head massage, no reassurances that he made the right decision and that he looks amazing. We paid and left. Exactly nine minutes later.
Jipped, I tell you.

But. Hunter does look awesome. And so handsome.