i always go to a random hair dressing saloon. never repeat. dunno why, no reason for it. some things in the universe don’t have an explanation, and this one of them.
today i’m lucky, one of the makeup artists here just got available, so he can take care of me. i know he’s not just a hair dresser but a make up artists cause his business card says so. he is a pretty big guy, especially in his two horizontal dimensions. he proudly wears huge tattoos all over his arms, which by the way are thick enough that he could break my neck with them. with any of them, i mean.
before getting the cut done, he gives me a shampoo clean, accompanied of a great head massage. but it’s not that delicate, almost erotic massage, but the way he talks to me and the voice in which he asks me about my life that tells me he is a lot softer in spirit than one would expect from his external appearance.
we move to the hair cutting seat, and we agree on the style we are going after today. the make up artists proceeds to execute the plan. and suddenly, while cutting my hair, he starts telling me about the scissors he’s using:
him: this scissor are new. first day today. they are so sharp, they feel great, like having sex
me: oh’cmon, that’s not possible
him: really, it is
either he really has a bad sex life and his having an orgasm right now as he cuts my hair (wait, wouldn’t that actually indicate a “good” sex life? i can’t decide), or he’s trying to tell me something that i’m not getting.
i laugh at his comment, my thoughts and the situation. lastly, the haircut is not coming bad, so perhaps i’ll come back. or not, picking random hair dressers seems to be fun.