I’ve been engaged in an ongoing battle about my haircuts with my lovely wife, Kate. You see, growing up, my father would take me to this dingy, old-fashioned barber shop – complete with old Italian men, barber shop pole and hunting magazines – to get our hair cut together. IT WAS THE BEST. From sitting on their hard plastic waiting chairs (that looked like they had been swiped from a high school cafeteria) and eavesdropping on the manly conversations I would learn stuff like the proper distance and location to shoot a doe with a 16-guage shotgun. What pound fishing line to use in order to catch a pickerel in Lake George. And a host of other conversations that I’m sure I was much too young and innocent to overhear. They were great visits and I count them among some of my favorite bonding times with my Dad. With the slow extinction of such places of Americana, I began going to the SuperCuts line of haircutting establishments. In my mind, they teeter on the line between barber shops and unisex salons…without actually being a unisex salon. It’s my reality, let me live in it. To this day, I have never paid more than $12 for a haircut (excluding gratuity).

Kate and her friends go to a very fancy salon in Manhattan for their haircuts and spend WAY TOO MUCH MONEY. Granted, she doesn’t go for haircuts nearly as often as I need to – so it could be argued that the money evens out. One of her girlfriends got her sucker of a husband to start going to their guy in NYC for stylings. Needless to say I made fun of him. He took it in stride and now has marvelously silky and styled hair. It’s FABULOUS! (sorry Jason)

Kate has always rolled her eyes at my cheap, quick haircuts. I usually ask for a No.2 on the sides and back, a No.5 on the top and yes, please square the back. Boom. I’m done.

I fear those glorious days have come to an end. Kate wants me to get an “Adult Haircut.”

In an effort to extend the olive branch in our haircut war I let my hair get much longer than I am comfortable with and then strategically made an offer to my lovely, unsuspecting wife this past Monday…

“Dear,” I said lovingly, “I need a haircut. I will go ANYWHERE you want me to go – if you make me an appointment – but it needs to be THIS WEEK. And I do mean ANYWHERE. If you don’t get around to it, I will be going to SuperCuts first thing Saturday morning.”

The whole week went by and she finally informs me this afternoon (Friday afternoon) that I have an appointment at LUSH DAY SPA at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow morning with Andrea, my new stylist. Ugh. I was so close.

But I am keeping my end of the bargain. The haircut I will be receiving will be worth more than twice what I normally pay. I plan to walk into LUSH and inform the impeccably dressed woman at the front counter that I am here for my appointment with Andrea. I then plan to inform Andrea of the following: “Hello Andrea. My name is Kenny. I am here today because my wife wants me to get a grown-up haircut. I have been a victim of bad haircuts my entire life. She is trying to teach me that there IS life after SuperCuts. I am a creative person who works in a creative field. I’m looking for something new and different, somthing styled. If you need to clear anything with my wife, she’s right over there with the baby. She may even have some samples trimmed out of magazines for your reference. Please wake me up when you’re finished. Thank you, Andrea.”