Zohan the Barberian

I never thought I would understand why women went loco over Scrappy Coco.  It must be the oozing appeal of Zohan that made the women stand in line and wait for effing hours just to get "serviced".  

I've meaning to get a trim since last week and during my usual walk along bustling and wonderful world of ukay, I decided to pop inside any salon that has very few customers.  Thankfully, my preferred salon seems to be in a relaxed mode but still I had to wait for the hairstylist.  

Much to my surprise, I was led to a male hairstylist or should I say a barber.  I've never had my done by a man -- considering that most hairstylist that I know are beckies.  I could have declined but my curiosity was tingling and I had to appease it.  

Mr. Barber looked more of a band member with his goatee and tattoos. I sat as demurely as I could as he gently tuck my shirt collar and covered me with the usual black cloth. His movements were graceful yet manly and his voice was soft and low.  Somehow, I saw the gears in his head when I said "My hair is limp". 

As he started to dampen my hair, I was looking at him through the mirror.  He expression was intense as if he was talking to the thin mop of hair.  As he started to touch my scalp, I felt this relaxing sensation that is both welcoming and weird at the same time. 

I was brooding with my superego as we try to rationalize the heady state we are in. I could have asked but my intuition instantly issued a STOP WORK AUTHORITY.  I closed my eyes instead. 

When I left the salon, my hair has strategically framed my face and looked thicker, all for a price of 2 sundaes.  Good thing he is not Zohan!