Getting published is a real be-yatch! Hear about my ups, downs and a few random rants in between.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

Breaching The Secret Society of Men

Today, I went where few women dare to tread.

With my heart in my throat and my neck tense, I crossed the line into a world that we're not totally banned from but where our presence is about as odd as a lion lying down with a lamb. Lying down without taking a little nibble on that gorgeous chop of a hind leg.

Ladies, today I went and got my hair done by ::gulp:: a barber!

After years, seven to be exact, of letting stylists butcher my hair because they really have zero clue what to do with my short, curly natural, I held my breath and ran into a barber shop and let a man have his way with my head.

Hmm...not like it's the first time I let a man have a way with my head. I was, after all, a teenager at one point in my life. So, you know...

But I let him get near me with clippers!

And that is akin to us girls play-fighting with a guy and grazing his nether regions with our foot. Like, you're only playing and you didn't even mean for your foot to go haywire AND the foot doesn't actually connect with anything. But still they jump back faster than if they were barefoot on a hot beach.

It was an odd experience. I was trusting a stranger to buzz cut my curly locks. And the second I walked in it was obvious I had stepped into a world that was virtually untouched by the female species.

I'm not saying I was the first.

I went to this barber on my husband's recommendation. He recommended it because of the number of women that came through the door during one of his visits.

Yet it still felt like I had burst into the mens' restroom. I caught them completely off-guard with their pants down.

They immediately lowered their voices, ceasing the lively banter that, at first, I heard before I opened the door.

There were three customers and four barbers. Everyone except one gave me this slit-eyed, scrunched-face, Is she lost? look.

The one who didn't was the barber who I contacted yesterday to give a heads up that I was interested in coming in.

I gave him a heads up more for myself than for him. I called ahead, one, because that's what we do at salons. You don't just flit in expecting to have your locks coifed, on a whim.

Two, what do I know about barber hours and appointments and such?

Nothing. So I called to make sure he'd be there.

As I sat and waited my turn, I flipped through a magazine and mostly got lost in it. I was pleased that there was a diverse offering of 'zines to read and not just Maxim and Playboy.

Sorry, Bad P is seeking assistance for her tendency to male bash, I swear!

So I flipped through my Black Enterprise mag and let the low-key convo float above me. I couldn't help but think that if I weren't there it would have been much more scandalous.

The words of Cedric the Entertainer as Eddie in the movie BARBERSHOP, rang in my ears, "If we can't talk straight in the barbershop where can we talk straight?"

I was definitely hindering them from talking straight.

At one point one of them dropped the f-bomb and you could almost hear him suck in air as he gave me a sheepish, "Aw damn, excuse me, Miss" glance.

Which is actually kind of cool in a chivalrous sort of way.

But I work around mechanics and bus drivers - so my ears aren't quite that delicate. And those who know me, know that I can err...well, as Brittany Spears said, I'm not that inn-o-cent!

When I finally sat in the chair I rambled a little bit about what I wanted and how I ended up there.

Yeah, like he cared.

But I was nervous!

Thankfully, he nodded and went to work allowing a peaceful silence to fall between us.

Though the conversation never returned to the level it had been when I first stepped in, the ice did begin to thaw and the low-talking amongst the brethren increased.

Soon the barber was dropping a few convo-bits directed at me. Like commenting on my hair, "You have really good hair." And then we both shared a good laugh when Sportscenter flashed highlights of Barry Bonds in drag.

When he was done twenty minutes later, I was looking quite glam, I must say.

The best hair cut I've had in seven years.

Afterwards, I ran right to the one man who knows I am indeed an odd creature, but loves me all the same, my hubby.

I had to get his confirmation that it was a good hair cut. And he agreed that Moon had "hooked me up."

Which is, by the way, the best compliment you can get on a haircut.

Even though the visit was weird and tense, it was also a naughty thrill to be the lone damsel amongst all the young studs.

So that thought of letting my hair grow out? Yeah, that idea is officially dead.
I've found me a stylist.

Watch out fellas, 'cause I'll be back!


Blogger Disco Mermaids said...

That was very polite of you to leave the Maxim and Playboy for another customer.

- Jay

7:07 PM

Blogger Miss P AKA Her Royal Cliqueness said...

Ya know, Playboy isn't my thing...but I was reeallll tempted to take the Maxim!

8:42 PM


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