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On
the Trail by
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I was out ropin' a steer the other day when my pardner did one of those "you know" things. "You know, there's a barber shop in Parker," he said. Not wanting to seem like a know-it-all, I acted like I didn't. "Yep," he continued, "it's right in there next to some pizza place in that Crossroads Shoppin' center. You know, the one with all the funny ways to get in and no way to get out." "Kinda' like love," I mused out loud. "Yep," he said again and rode off leavin' me to my thinkin'. I remember the first time I ever went into one of those beauty shops. Now, there's a misnomer. I found nothin' nor no one even approachin' "beauty" inside. My old barber shop had gone out of business (go figure), and I decided to try out somethin' new on the advice of one of my girlfriends. "Go to Michelle," she had told me. "She does a fabulous job with hair." You mighta' guessed, this ex-girlfriend was from California. "Come with me," Michelle said after I arrived for my "appointment" and she guided me past a platoon of vain women (oh the redundancy) gettin' their hair spiked through sheets of tin foil. From the looks of it, Michelle seemed like she favored sleepin' on one side of her head. "You gonna cut my hair in a sink?" I blurted when we got to where Michelle was goin'. "I was kinda' hopin' for a chair." "No, silly," she said, slappin' my arm. "I'm gonna wash your hair." And wash it, she did. She scrubbed, massaged, and rubbed until I thought she was gonna ask me to marry her. You might imagine, I was no longer in the mood for a haircut. Then she dried me off and led me to a chair. "How do you want it cut?" she asked. "Hell, I don't know," I said. "I ain't been to no barber school." Well, she cut my hair while starin' at some pictures in a magazine, and I have to admit, I thought I looked kinda' fancy. Then I washed it. The next day, when I took my hat off for breakfast at the Bull Pen, my pardners snickered and told me I looked like a Beatle. I never went back to the beauty salon. I guess I'm not an appointment kinda' guy. Besides, I found the barbershop, which started this whole conversation, soon thereafter. Now I go in, sit down, wait my turn for Rudy, and get a real man's haircut, complete with havin' my neck shaved. But you know, sometimes, when I'm all alone at night, I think about callin' up Michelle and askin' her if she'd consider just washin' my hair.
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