That’s what my hair is.

When I think of it, I count my blessings everyday that I am a guy, and that I can get away with a cheap haircut at the neighborhood barber.

Nothing too fancy. No ‘unisex salon/hairdresser’ crap for me. Just plain old barber. And a plain old haircut.

I wasn’t tired of my hairstyle. I didn’t need a change. I didn’t need layering. My classic Asian black hair wasn’t needing artificial coloring.

I wouldn’t even go all the way to another nearby country to get a haircut. (Though I know some girls do!)

Why did I get a haircut, then?

I sat in front of my computer, with a wall fan blowing at my face. The fan blew the front fringes, which were then long, into my eyes, irritating me when staring at the computer for long periods of time. (Like when I finished Return To Castle Wolfenstein!) Then, I knew, it was time.

I like haircuts. Rather, I like the event that is, getting a haircut. There is an enjoyable, gratifying sensation running through your scalp when the barber’s shaver passes your ears, moving your head. Ooohhh yeah. At times I wished that my hair was longer so the barber would take a longer time just to trim my hair.

The best part of it all was the familiarity. He knew all that had to be done to make it look shorter. Not different. Like I just shrank my hair, not somebody taking an axe to my hair. The barber respected the thin line between changing hairstyles and shortening messy masses of keratin strands (hair!) He knew what I wanted. For it to be short and simple.

As an aftertreat, I get to stroke the spiky stubbles of my hair, where there were close shaves. (And no, I don’t have a near-bald crew cut.)