I don’t enjoy getting a haircut. I get stressed and I put it off and put it off and build it up in my head into something awkward and unwieldy. I’m not good at small talk and I try to time my visits for when the barbers are least likely to be busy. At least then I won’t have an audience as I am forced to admit, yet again, that I don’t really like football. I loiter on the pavement and peer through the windows, trying to decide whether I should be brave or come back again and try tomorrow.
But of course, this was all before COVID. Once they re-opened, we had to make appointments, didn’t we? We all have our own allocated time slots and everything is geared to limit interaction with others, which suits me down to the ground.
I decided to try…
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