i'm hairy sorry.

my better half is no metrosexual, but he is finicky about his hair. when we first started dating, he had had the same barber for 13 years and only left him because jacques was getting a little distracted in his old age and his skills started - er - slipping. so now, he goes to josé eber atelier (that's pronounced "jo-zay" and "'atl`yey," which means "an artist's studio"). unfortunately, in our current status, a $75+, hour and a half haircut bonanza (not including tip for the stylist and for the "shampoo technician") isn't going to fly.

three months have gone by, folks and he was looking pretty shaggy. couple that with an upcoming wedding and something had to be done.

on our daily walk, we happened upon a neighborhood barber shop that advertised $16 haircuts for men. $16?! that's like an automatic savings of at least 84 bucks. sweet!

so i started in.

"haircut today?"

"wanna try that barber?"

"it's only $16."

"if you hate it, your hair grows fast."

"we really can't afford $75 on hair right now."

"honey, your hair is not looking great."

"it's my duty to tell you."

"if you don't get a haircut, i'm gonna be pissed."

"we are trying to simplify, right? live more humbly?"

"it looks bad."

so after about a week of badgering, he relented and we went. together.

in retrospect, maybe we should have waited for the more stylish italian-speaking guy that everyone else seemed to be waiting for, but alas, that hindsight thing.

first off, my poor better half had to take off his glasses and so he couldn't see a thing the entire time. i think this is the kind of barber where you actually need to be watching. apparently, the barber should have started by actually cutting his hair instead of shaving it off. at the time, i was glad to see it go. it was quickly whisked away by the housekeeping barber waiting in the wings. then he started snipping. i peeped over my paper occassionally during the five-minute escapade, but i don't know what the hell i'm supposed to be looking for. it looked like a haircut. in a barber shop. it looked ok.

when the barber finished he said it's "second to none." then he looked at us expectantly. he repeated, "second to none." we didn't get it. we still don't get it. puzzled, we paid the guy and walked out.

i said, "it looks good." i meant it.

he said, "i fucking hate it."

oh goodie. not only was i the pestering worse half, but now he has a haircut that he fucking hates.

throughout yesterday and part of today, i offered:

"maybe with some gel?"

"let's book an appointment at josé."

"it will be my treat."

"i like it."

"it doesn't look bad."

"just wear your hat."

"i'm sorry. it's all my fault."

"maybe we could go to joey's barber? or brad pitt's?"

"i think it looks good."

"maybe after you wash it?"

he is such a good sport, he has forgiven me (i think) and has declared that there is to be no more speaking of the hair or the barber. in fact, i think it is growing on him. a wash, some gel and hey, $16 ain't so bad.

his birthday is coming up so maybe a visit to the ol' atelier wouldn't be such a bad gift. at least i would feel a little better, a little less like the worse half who created the haircut from hell.