The husband’s been planning to get a hair cut for about six weeks now. Somehow, we never managed to get this small, necessary chore done during his week off last week, but we stopped by a SportsClips after church today and he finally got his ears lowered.
Before today, I had never stepped foot in a SportClips. As I have said before, I go to Anne (who goes by Venus…) across from the Pyramid and we talk about split ends and she usually tries to sell me something that I should probably use but don’t have the money for. The husband, not a slave to vanity like myself, goes to whatever place is open during his random off hours. He also does not talk to the stylist…he sits with his eyes closed and waits until they’re done, tips well, and leaves. No relationship built. I feel that this goes against the basic laws of humanity; you must alway engaged a stylist in a conversation while they’re working… I think we subconsciously believe that the more a stylist knows about us, the less likely they’ll butcher our hair. The moment I feel a stylist is cutting my hair wrong, I start blurting incredibly personal information to her, hoping to get her back on track. My stylist in Jackson, Tammy, whom I love, cut not only my hair, but currently cuts my aunt’s, cousin’s, uncle’s, and grandmother’s. She knows more about my family than I do. If it weren’t for the drive, I would go to her, because we have built a relationship and I am loyal. And maybe because she charges $15 for a cut and I can’t find that ANYWHERE else.
Back to SportsClips. I had dropped him off earlier and window shopped, so by the time I got back to the shop, he was beginning his haircut. They really take the whole sports theme seriously at SportsClips. When I walked in, about seven men (who all had the same ‘my-wife-made-me-come-here’ look on their faces) were perched on a stadium bench to my left, and to my right was a shelf full of sports-themed hair products. I walked to the back of the shop where my husband was getting his robe velcro’d to his neck as he watched some March Madness game on the one of the flat screens next to his chair. At each station were lockers and a trash can decorated for a team in the SEC. He was at the Ole Miss station…hopefully his haircut isn’t indicative of their sports teams. Ha, sorry. Roll Tide.
I can see the logic behind the concept of SportsClips… men hate haircuts, but they love sports. So sportify the horrendous experience, and maybe they’ll come back. No sissy salon filled with Good Housekeeping and People magazines for you, sir. You get your hair cut surrounded by TV’s, black and red walls, posters of Mike Ditka, and buddies to fist pump on your way out the door. At SportsClips, you get to get rid of your mullet and keep your man card.
However, no matter how pleasant of an experience it may become, they’re going to react just like my mom’s cocker spaniel, and hide underneath the table for two weeks until it grows out.
My husband was just about to close his eyes for his meditation, when the stylist, a woman in her mid 50’s, asked him what he did for a living. Since I was there, I had been talking with the stylist because we’re both women and that’s what we do, and the husband had remained silent. After being a little evasive, he finally told her he was a general surgeon.
According to him, this happens quite a bit, but this was my first time experiencing this phenomenon. I’m sure I’ll need to get used to it eventually. The moment she understood what he did, she went into great detail (and I mean great detail) into her surgical history.
“So, you do those, uhh, hernia surgeries? Are they complicated?” Snip Snip.
“I’ve done a couple, and no, they’re pretty basic” Snip.
“Well, I got one…and I need to get it fixed. Been bothering me for awhile. Can you do it for me?” Snip.
“Well, uhh… I mean, if you want to come up to the hospital… uhh…”
“I don’t have insurance. That’s why I been ignoring it. It’s just pokin on out-” She wiggles her eyebrows at him “down there, ya know?”
I have to hand it to him, he was able to keep a straight face and remain professional. I, on the other hand, began intently studying a 90’s era Michael Jordan poster when she began talking about her hysterectomy.
“I went down there to Jackson and got it done. Woo, they were so sweet. Got a full– everything, now– hysterectomy. You went to medical school there? Man, if you had just waited another year, you would have gotten my ovaries”.
We left the shop with her calling out to him that since he let her cut him, she’ll let him cut her. Not sure what the other men in the shop thought of that.