the best part about hair that grows is that it has to get cut, eventually.
and that means you have to find someone to cut it.
and right after a dentist and before a car mechanic, the hair cutter is the most sacred bond i have that's not of the marriage or domestic partner sort.
a bad haircut is the equivalent of a flapping dry nostril booger atop the head.
you just can't take your eye off it, and for all the wrong reasons.
a good haircut is tantamount to self-confidence, making the hair cutter relationship as important as any one can have.
this is the story about such a hair relationship.
upon my return to new jersey many moons ago, after a three year stint in phoenix, i found dexter.
i was a walk-in to a hoity-toity joint in an upscale mall.
he was great.
fabulous hair-cuts and boy did he give me a lot of attention.
it didn't take long for the sacred bond to gel.
things were moving along swimmingly too.
that is until dexter suggested we go out for drinks ... to a cabaret ... which to my way of thinking was getting away from nurturing the "sacred" in order to stress the bondy part a little too much for my liking.
i guess i was sending out same sex vibes, but i think it's just my affable nature getting all misconstrued.
that's happened a few times, if the truth be told.
sooo ... i told him okay but only if my girl friend could join us, which was pretty bold considering she wasn't within thirty miles of the joint, that is if i even had one at the time.
anyway, i'd have to convince a female stranger in the mall to play the part, if he called my bluff.
a real george costanza moment.
well poor old dexter there was visibly crushed (could you blame him) and fortunately dropped the offer.
but the sacred bond was never the same.
soon, we decided it best to go our separate ways.
alas, i entered the long, lonely process of searching for a new sacred bond once again.
two years to be exact.
painful ones at that, bouncing from barbershops to two bit haircut factories, only to find emptiness at the end of dull scissor blades and the bottom of a bottle of blue comb antiseptic.
but i would push on.
and in my lowliest hour, i struck gold.
desperate for a decent haircut and to reclaim my heterosexualness, i decided to change course and give a female hairdresser a whirl.
not that my hair needed dressing.
it just needed cutting.
but this concept of dressing the hair was untapped and i was quite lowly and vulnerable, if you need to be reminded.
a little walk through the local yellow pages and there she was, just a hop, skip and jump away.
i found june of june and company in 1987.
june was running a small salon in a tiny rented house amid a hodgepodge of little town shops, rundown strip malls and brand spanking new shopping plazas.
quaint is a word that comes to mind to describe her salon, much like her patrons.
actually, i'd call her clientele rustic, like fluffy blue hair rustic.
it's the kind of place in which i immediately felt young and vibrant.
and they loved my material.
it's not every day that mature women, preparing to contact venus with their hair dressed up in tin foil, rods and oil paints under mind melding domes, can carry on in witty conversation with the likes of a virile, dashing young man, such as myself.
i gave them cause to enjoy the rest of their eighties.
and as for me, it simply confirmed that the kid still had his mojo, contrary to whatever some of you are thinking right about now.
now let me say this right up front, june was a slippery pete of sorts.
after the first hair dressing, she massaged my head and shoulders for a good five minutes.
dexter did that a little too, but i thought he was just fastidious about how my shirt sat upon my shoulders.
this was different.
being in the state of mind i was in (i.e., confirming my sexual proclivity), i have to say, i ... i ... well i got a little aroused.
not full blown or nothing mind you, but there was definitely twitching amidst me south-of-the-borders.
and it was just the sign i was looking for!
a new sacred bond was established, albeit still a little more bondy than sacred, but at least every one was on the right team.
oh yeah, the hair dress was pretty good too, i think.
and that was that.
yada, yada, yada ... i've been in sacred bond with her ever since.
over twenty years and only one breach.
i was desperate, she was on vacation, so her salon partner dressed my hair in my moment of need.
let me tell ya something, i learned quickly that an in-a-pinch replacement is a no-no in the salon constitution of sacred bonds.
there was bad karma there for a while, resulting in a few suspect cuts to my ears, nothing some iodine and snoopy band-aids couldn't repair, but cuts nonetheless.
however, a sacred bond is a sacred bond, and it all sorted itself out in about three years.
oh yeah, before i forget, you know that massage?
there was only one.
it was her male-patron, sacred-bond creation technique ("the old head and shoulders" in salon parlance).
i know this to be true because i have it on good sources that other guys had the same experience with june.
now that's some slippery salon shenanigans alright.
but hey, men are simple creatures who get what they deserve.
good for her.
you go june girl.
she is like a sister really.
been through marriages, kids, divorces and new relationships together.
now my son goes to one of her young hairdressers.
it's a family affair really.
and one of these days i'm going to write about the joint.
yeah ... soooo ... that's the best part about hair that grows.