Many hands gone over my hair
Now they are called hair dressers or hair stylists, a far cry from the old seemingly traditional word of barber. Short-back-and-sides was another favorite, meaning a wallop of the head with long ears protruding out, giving you the Mr Spok of Star Trek look.
Luckily came the 1970s, short hair was becoming a thing of the past being replaced by the trendy long, and although today it has long given to short hair, the short-back-and-sides has mercifully given way to other new and attractive styles, thank God.
To this point I end, leaving it to a greater experts to talk about the wonders of fashionable styles. I had a deep and platonic relationship with different hair stylists over the years. Non except for the very few have been able to make my hair-cut satisfactory.
After the cut, my head used to look like a melon or an oblong shaped-object , somehow the scissors would get it all wrong sending me into intermittent bouts of depression. One Italian hairdresser used to get it right, but I eventually moved, and went back to the crappy look for a while. (Sorry for all you barbers out there, it's my head, my head).
Over the decades I've been to many barbers/hairdressers/stylists. I remember when I was 13 years of age I used to go to a hairstylist in the UK, and asked for one girl who I thought I had a crush on. It was silly really how I used to wait with trapidation for her slim fingers to brush over my hair and wait for her to smile at me. Needless to say, nothing come out of such a relationship.
But I remember having to cut my hair in different parts of the globe and different countries. Before the UK, I had my hair cuts in Kuwait with my father dictating the way I needed to look and he insisted I maintain short-back-and-sides. On my holidays coming from England where I would follow the nearly-hippy trend to Kuwait, he would almost drag me to the barber from the airport, kicking and screaming but to no avail. I was at his mercy.
I remember needing to have a hair cut in Kansas, the good old USA and then Dubai, and of course back to Jordan and Saudi Arabia. Lebanese cut my hair, Indians had a go, Palestinians of course, Syrians, Brits and one young pretty American lady which I thought had a glimmer of blond delight and fresh look with jolts of make-up.
My head went under the scissors and trimmers of many with some giving me shampoo , a good wash and messaging of the scalp which felt so good as the head was being thumped, and pressed under the hot water and soap. Strong fingers were needed for such operations.
And no doubt my relationship with barbers will continue so long as I need a hair-cut. See you at the barbers, oops hairstylists, oops hairdressers. Call them what you like as long as they give a good haircut.
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