Huh?!
That's right, for the second time in as many months, I've gone to another barber. Might not be a big deal to some folks, but to me, it was a heavy decision to make. My dad and I came to the area in 1981. Since then, I've been to a few barbers, but I grew up going to Lancaster's. Larry Lancaster, Pat Pellitier, and whoever filled in the third barber chair would cut hair (for what seemed like everyone in town).
At some point, Pat moved out on his own and kept cutting hair. Dad and I followed. He moved to another shop location (still in town), and we followed. He got sick, we still had him cut our hair. He gave my daughter her first haircut. He gave my dad Playboys. He knew us by name and knew what we wanted for a haircut. We tipped him and always waited for him. Only him. Kind of like a cult leader, he was the only one divine enough to cut my hair.
Until he started wearing gloves.
Because he had some sort of rash/infection/who knows what going on.
And despite my desire to keep as healthy as possible, I feel guilty. Yes, I actually feel guilty about going to someone else.
Kind of like I cheated on my barber.
I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay... But be warned. I run like a Lumberjack, drink like a horse, sweat like a pig, swim like a gorilla, spit like a camel, and swear like a sailor. I'm also a full-time #housespouse that creates videos and writes articles.
No comments:
Post a Comment