There is a barber who does our son's hair. He does such a good job. He's rather handsome too. He's retired and has a small ranch and, well, he's very handsome. Oh, I already said that.
He used to own quite an impressive chain of salons and traveled around the world. Got tired of it and settled in an itty bitty town in New Mexico.
I told him I would be wanting a trim in the next couple months or so. My hair was in a braided bun and he asked how long it was. I pointed and he said, 'Ahhhhh.' It was the kind of ahhhh as if he was impressed. Well, I felt good.
Told him, very firmly, I do not want more than 1/2 inch taken off. He said, 'Hmm, so you just want stray hairs cut?' I said, 'Yeah." I left out the part about how if he cuts off too much he will find his pet bunny rabbit in a pot of boiling water in the kitchen on his stove at home.
In the truck my son, who's nine, said the guy sounded like he knew about long hair. I agreed. My son, he's sharp. I liked how Ivan leaned against the wall and looked into my eyes when I told him how I wanted it cut. I trust him to do my hair the way I want it done. Last time ya know, I asked for two inches off and got three off. Plus the girl was unpleasant and rough with my hair. I went to a Supercuts type place. Won't do that a second time.
I sure like Ivan. He's handsome and nice. I guess, even though I'm older I still like older men.
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