I just got back from getting my hair cut at Supercuts in the district. They also wax my eyebrows. I love to tell my friends that's where I go and watch their faces cave in with distress as if I have broken some kind of middle-class law.
What's more I never let them wash it or dry it. I never look like myself after a blow out. Today was an especially good cut. Too bad, because you never know when that person will be back. Haircutters at Supercuts come and go like cold sores.
I used to pay more money for my hair, especially when I was coloring it, but since the gray appeared peppered through it in my late fifties, I said, enough. Also, my hair is easy to cut; it grows in beautifully at the nape of my neck, so there is little they can do wrong. Plus, I give tyrannical directions. Sometimes I am my own worst enemy and get it wrong.
I am often my own worst enemy, but have found no way around it, because I continue to be me.