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Today I had a hair cut. Not that dramatic an event, but I absolutely hate it. I always have. For some people it is the dentist they hate, for me it's the barbers.
It's not really a phobia, I'm not scared of getting my hair cut, I'd just rather not.
I have wondered why I hate it so much. Partly, I suspect, it is because I'm a naturally scruffy individual, but there is more to it than that.
I suspect my dislike of getting my hair cut goes back to early childhood. My father would take me to one of those old fashioned barbers with the red and white pole out side. It was called, Peter's and had a huge red barbers chair. For the small kids a padded plank would be placed across the arms of the chair and I would sit on that.
Peter (for, unsurprisingly, that was the owners name) would chat away as he cut my hair. He would always say the same thing to the kids, "don't move, stay very still, because I don't want to cut you". He would then add the bit that, he no doubt thought of simply as a joke, " don't sneeze or I might cut your ear off". Even this didn't send chills down my spine, it's what came next that did, "I feed all the ears I've chopped off to my cat". Now even that might not have worried me too much except that Peter's cat was very, VERY fat. My childish logic told me that a lot of kids kust have lost their ears in that shop. I never twitched a muscle whilst I sat on that plank.
More than 30 years later I still don't like having my hair cut, but at least at Michael's (and no the owner isn't called Michael, it's Glenn), where I have it done now there isn't a cat.
It's not really a phobia, I'm not scared of getting my hair cut, I'd just rather not.
I have wondered why I hate it so much. Partly, I suspect, it is because I'm a naturally scruffy individual, but there is more to it than that.
I suspect my dislike of getting my hair cut goes back to early childhood. My father would take me to one of those old fashioned barbers with the red and white pole out side. It was called, Peter's and had a huge red barbers chair. For the small kids a padded plank would be placed across the arms of the chair and I would sit on that.
Peter (for, unsurprisingly, that was the owners name) would chat away as he cut my hair. He would always say the same thing to the kids, "don't move, stay very still, because I don't want to cut you". He would then add the bit that, he no doubt thought of simply as a joke, " don't sneeze or I might cut your ear off". Even this didn't send chills down my spine, it's what came next that did, "I feed all the ears I've chopped off to my cat". Now even that might not have worried me too much except that Peter's cat was very, VERY fat. My childish logic told me that a lot of kids kust have lost their ears in that shop. I never twitched a muscle whilst I sat on that plank.
More than 30 years later I still don't like having my hair cut, but at least at Michael's (and no the owner isn't called Michael, it's Glenn), where I have it done now there isn't a cat.
I Lost all my Hair one day when I became a Vegan...
Pavot