Karma strikes back

Karma!


It looks like Karma has decided to get me back for the whole laughing at people with wet backsides thing.

I feel like Earl!

Yesterday I went for a haircut.

What? I hear you say – how fascinating?

Okay you can put the sarcasm back to bed, let me explain. So I’m a very simple guy when it comes to haircuts. Nothing fancy, just get those clippers out and get going.

I have the same cut every time. Simple.

Number one on the back and sides and a number three on top, job done - where’s my lollypop?

Easy.

I’ve indicated here before that although I have to accept that my hair is receding faster than the Arctic ice, I don’t have to like it.

I don’t – I hate it.

So that number three on the top is important. It matters. It means I don’t feel too shiny up there as I walk about.

So I went for a haircut and gave my instructions as usual, and my man grabbed his clippers and got going

Just before he clipped the top bit he stopped.

“Are you sure sir? It is very short – will be quite obvious? Are you sure sir?”

Now I’ve had this before. I leave my hair quite long to get a cut, so a three and a one is quite drastic compared to when I walk in the place. Barbers often double check that I know what I am doing. I assured him it was fine.

“But sir, it is quite a difference – are you sure you don’t want something else?”

At this I failed to hide my annoyance – dammit I get the same haircut every time! I know the bloody numbers – I’ve been getting this cut for twenty years! I expressed as much to the barber and indicated that maybe he could perhaps get on with it.

As soon as the clippers completed their first stroke across my head I knew something was wrong.

I was bald.

Properly slap-head-bald!

What on Earth had gone wrong? I started to panic – I asked him what he thought he was doing? It never looks like this – he must have used the wrong tool!

And then it hit me.

Everything came into focus.

I replayed the start of the cut in my head – the moment I’d sat down – the moment I’d asked for the style – OH BLOODY HELL!

I’d asked for it the wrong way around! I’d said number three on the back and sides and a number one on top. A NUMBER ONE ON TOP!

And my man had tried so hard to stop me! He had repeatedly questioned it, and I’d repeatedly and eventually crossly affirmed it.

My barber’s poker face was good, but the man in the next chair along could not hold back his mirth.

The laugh rippled through the salon.

I look a complete arse.

An arse with no hair.

Karma!