Tom, the Barber

My favorite barber is a “she.” Her name is Julia. Julia cuts my hair perfectly, and I leave the shop smiling. Her husband partner Tom is always my second choice for cutting my hair. The reason for my avoiding Tom is that he tends to give me what I call a military cut. The next to last time he cut my hair (Julia wasn’t there), my sideburns looked like Forrest Gump’s, if you know what I mean. My instructions to him were: “Cut it short in front.” He evidently took that to mean: start cutting it short in front and continue until you get to the bottom in back. Recently, I went to the shop with a warning from Dimitris not to come home with the “Tom-type” haircut. When I arrived, Tom was the only one in the shop. Julia was doing some running-around, according to her husband. I decided to take matters into my own hands so advised him that my last haircut with him had been unacceptable but that I was giving him one more chance. No one else was in the shop, and he took a long time trimming, edging, turning me to face the mirror, and finally released me from the chair. When I got home, Dimitris gave Tom, the barber, the seal of approval. I hope I have now “trained” Tom so that I now have two choices for barber.


About bobosbest

I am an 80-year-old retired English teacher whose writing goals are fulfilled by publishing these blogs. I have a wonderful married partner, Dimitris Tsitsiras, who is from Greece. Life is good and still an adventure.
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