Okay. I'm going to admit that I used to assume that all those 5 Star reviews on Yelp for Rick's and Dick's Barber Shops and Financial District types shelling out a whole 13 bucks for a cut and a shave was yet another way for the yups to overly-romanticize a working class institution. I mean, yes, we all rooted for Ice Cube in Barbershop. (And who wouldn't root for Ice Cube...with his therefore beauty mark? It's like his face just made a sound argument....for being good-looking!) It's the little twinkle these Ivy Leaguers get in their eyes when they wax on and wax off a little too poetically about the swearing and Playboys and domino games and baseball...it just smacks of safari to me. I've learned, however, that while it is true that rich people do, in fact, enjoy slumming it, barbershops, like tidy whities and The Three Stooges, is a Dude Thing that I will never understand.
The only barbershop I can get behind.
I also realized that beauty salons, and all the primping, curling and shimmery opalescence that goes with them is a Girl Thing. And Girl Things begin at an early age.
Even less happy than she looks. See, my haircutting skills aren't stellar, or even decent. So when Snappy turned 3, I gave in and brought my long-haired stranger-hater to Kids Kuts. She sat in an Elmo-sticker covered car and squirmed and cried most of the way through the ordeal. Then, at the end, the stylist offered glitter and clips. Snappy picked out red glitter and white clips and sat, primly, expectantly, like a little princess while these implements of glamour were applied. I saw, in that moment, many trips to the mani-pedi place in our future...I hope we'll still go to Mitchell's for gummi bear sundaes after.
Even less happy than she looks. 
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