Blow Cut

So on Monday, I find myself having to suddenly get on a plane and head off on a last-minute business trip, when I realize my hair looks like I'd combed it with a pillow. On my way to the airport, I stop off at a hair cutters in some tony Boston suburb and find a rather hot hairdresser with an empty chair.

So I sit and she starts going through the motions. And I'm checking the mirror and checking my watch and checking her ass whenever she turns past me. And then, when she's all done, I feel the distinct feeling of her warm breath across my neck. Huh? Where other barbers I've worked with have brushed cut hairs off the back of my neck with, y'know, a brush, she's simply blowing them off. With her mouth. So I sit in the chair, completely transfixed, as this cute Spanish girl with her pursed, lipsticked mouth works her way around the back of my neck.

This is a new one on me, folks. Not that I'm complaining, mind you.

But I know where I'm getting my hair cut for the rest of my life.