What she wore was blue,

It matched the mood,

A lump formed in a throat,

No emotion expressed,

But they knew…

– ReinBo Flaffi Bani

And now a tale about my visit to the barber over the weekend… It goes without saying that no pictures will be posted.

Ever felt that your hair is getting unruly? That try as you might it just won’t look “kempt”? It takes on an appearance like there’s clusters on your head. I suppose this shouldn’t be a bad thing, but the society we live in seems to be big on hair. So I went to my barber; a guy that always makes me feel like I have forced him to postpone an appearance in a music video.

He dresses up like one of those hip hop types and fortunately doesn’t grow his nails to levels that suggest he may be one of those touchy types… you know the kind, long nails, a hint of a lisp and behaviour some may construe as gay…just some, you realize. In some parts of the world, its absolutely normal for a man to…. actually at some point even in some churches… moving right along.

So we get into some conversation over soccer. I’d like to state that there are some discussions you do not get into with people holding sharp objects to whom you have entrusted your “looks”. Soccer discussions happen to be at the top of the list. The other things usually pale in comparison. I was fortunate that he did not take offense to my suggestion (appalling in its very nature I now realize) that he was a Chelsea supporter.

Then the electricity went away. No one knows for sure where it goes during such occurrences, for you see, the power company justifies this action by telling us that people in other areas have been given our electricity for a bit, whereas said people claim to have absolutely no recollection of having seen our, or anybody else’s power in their locales.

Thanks to the miracle that is technology, power can be derived from a box. Not large amounts of power, just a little…enough to get an electric device going. The barber’s box however, a generator if you will, seemed to have a certain shyness about it at first. One I suspect it derived from suddenly being yanked out from under a seat. However after adapting to its new environs ( right in the middle of the path to the bathroom) it gained a new lease on life and roared some.

In hindsight, it appears, that’s what it did best, for it barely produced power. So little was the electricity, it couldn’t spark a conversation. However, I reckon it was just enough to power up the radio, where I’m sure the Barber keeps sound bytes if barber-y equipment in action. I came to this conclusion at that moment when he was attempting to trim my moustache and all I heard was the sound but experienced no cottage of follicles.

Without warning, the electricity returned from its stroll, and my haircut was concluded.

I glanced at myself and realized I was in dire need of something to get rid of razor bumps. I asked him for a recommendation and he said something that sounded like Bum patrol. Given that he had no long nails or a trace of a lisp, I can only assume that it was in fact Bump Patrol. That anyone would name a product thus makes no sense, then again nothing ever does…this piece serving as proof of that.

* SPOILER * This piece barely makes sense. Happy reading. * END Of SPOILER*