Massages, Haircuts & Touching My Bits

So I went to a hair salon the other day.

Not a barber, a salon. Which I am normally dead against – for reasons you know I’m about to go into – but Mrs ClubDes talked me into because she had a voucher. We love vouchers. Vouchers mean you cut the mark up of a good or service down from ‘over inflated’ to just plain ‘inflated’. It’s quite possibly the only form of deflation I like....

Now I like the teat of some lady I’ve only just met in my face as much as the next guy, but aside from that and I’m not a big fan of hair salons. Maybe it’s because I’ve seen every episode of Tabitha’s Salon Makeover. Twice. Or maybe it’s just that I have this thing about other people touching my personal bits.

Like massages. I love them. Strictly above the waist and with everybody in the room but me clothed, but I can never seem to relax enough to let anyone give me one. Needless to say I’m terrible at orgies too.

The last time I did have a massage was with some middle aged Swedish bird who asked me at the end if there was ‘anything else she could do?’ in a way that was distinctly porno.

No, I tell a lie. The last massage I got was from a guy who was very good but he seemed to confuse my telling him at the start of the festivities that I had low body fat percentage so ‘he could take it easy with the pressure’ to mean ‘please, push as hard as you can because I like it rough’.

A friend of mine was training to be a masseuse a couple of years ago and she offered to give both the missus and I one on the cheap. I nearly took her up on it too, only I walked in on her giving another mate one once and either she was lactating or she’d inadvertently dipped her nipples in the lotion as she’d worked the back. I couldn’t quite bring myself to look at her in the eye after that.

Usually the missus cuts my hair. Sure, it takes her about two hours but she cuts it the way she wants, which is of course, the way that I want it and it costs us nothing, except the usual threat to stop midway through when I complain how long it’s taking.

Which just highlights another reason I’m not a big fan of salons in general because when it comes to paying for shit, like haircuts, I’m as tight as a nuns nasty...

But like I said, we had a voucher and my current look (imagine Sawyer off Lost) is beyond the amateur but well meaning cutting skills of Mrs ClubDes, talented as she is. Truth really be told she couldn’t be arsed and I don’t blame her, so off to the salon I went.

And you know what? I kind of liked it. I got a shampoo and a head massage, which turned me on a little and a kick ass cut that was quick and exactly like the four photos I had printed off the Internet and said that Mrs ClubDes had bought in for me as a reference.

I even found myself digging the gay stylists play list he had pumping out across the place and almost joined in the conversation with he and the Sheila next to me about Anne Hathaway who, I fancy a great deal but shall not be doing it with if she continues to show her fruit jubes in every movie she makes from this point on, fuck you very much.

As relaxed as I was at that point I kept that one to myself.

I wasn’t even annoyed when we found out at the end that our voucher was no longer valid; I had had a good time damn it, a scalp massage, a perfect hair cut not to mention not one, but two boobs to the face.

Hell, on that basis I might even go again.

Tabitha can do whatever the hell she likes with my bits.

Shaven Sideburns: The Ultimate Contraceptive

Have you ever noticed how some guys shave the bit where their sideburns should be? Not give it a trim mind you, but cut it nice and high, far too high to be sane really. And have you also ever noticed that the kind of guy who has just such a cut, doesn't half look like he would be right at home standing outside your bathroom window watching whilst you shower?

A whole bunch of dudes like that work at the hospital, deep in the bellows where they can't frighten the already weak of heart patients, unless you have the misfortune of waking in the middle of the night in time to see the ones who like to stand outside of your bedroom window watching you sleep. Not that I ever did, but just because I didn't see him it doesn't mean he wasn't there!

Kind of like if a fat girl falls in the woods is it still funny? Ponder that.

Anyhoo, I have from time to time bumped into the shaven sideburn squad. They're the guys who get to push heavy trolleys full of shit (sometimes literally) through the warren of tunnels that link the many hospital buildings. They are, quite frankly, the oil in the machine. If they weren't their skulking their way about day after day, freaking out the young nurses who use the tunnels as shortcuts to get about, the place would fall to pieces. But knowing that doesn't make it any less scary when bumping into one, especially at night.

I had to ask one for help a few weeks back whilst trying to locate the pharmacy. I had foolishly thought it would be clearly sign posted and had thus assured my doctor that I could find it, no problems. It wasn't and I couldn't, hence my flagging down Lurch for assistance. He was happy for the interruption - his type always are - and dutifully informed me that a) the door was unmarked and secure and b) that I had just walked past it. I wasn't too happy that he then advised me to walk in front of his flatbed truck of a trolley till we got there but I figured hey, if he runs me down in an instantaneous, uncontrollable savant rage I was in the right place for it.

He wasn't wrong, on both counts. The place was locked down like a nuclear missile silo. I had to get through two intercom controlled doors but my god was it worth it, because inside, at least from what I could see from the little service window, the place was full of beautiful young women packing pills like some clandestine drug lab. Which of course it was! The reason for all the security suddenly became abundantly clear; I thought it might've been to keep any semi-determined P cook from ever finding the place in a drug fuelled raid, but no, it was to protect the gorgeous girls from Lurch and his homeboys.

In all seriousness though, it was one of those little moments in your life that you know you will never be able to explain in sufficient detail to anybody, ever. Why right now I have a chubby at the very thought of it but I bet you haven't.

Not all guys choose to have the 'burns chopped so unceremoniously half way up the head. It's one of those sick jokes that barber plays on their unsuspecting captive customers. If you have the pleasure of visiting a real barber and remember, real men do, then you really should avoiding saying "no" to the innocent sounding question "Are we keeping the sideburns sir?".

But at least you'll be asked. When you're ten and struggling to attract the opposite sex as it is the last thing you need is the setback of having white skin showing from the bowl cut down, something that doesn't cross the mind of the bastard with the clippers. If being taken to the barbers at 6am and having to spend the rest of the school day smelling of old man and the sanitiser the barbers cleaned their kit in wasn't bad enough!

They don't cut hair like that any more though and boys are reaping the rewards. Maybe that’s why 5000+ teenagers gave birth last year but god knows how. I was trawling through some Facebook photos of friends younger and far more attractive than myself - the only point of FB really - and I was absolutely blown away by the self presentation of the young 'gentlemen' on show. These guys haven't made the slightest bit of effort in getting ready for whatever piss up they're at and I can see why, the coherent state of the girls deteriorates well before I hit the second page of photos and that folks is why we have so many teen pregnancies in New Zealand.

That would never happen if you shave your son’s sideburns. Or your daughters for that matter. Trust me, I speak from experience.

Hello, is your daughter home?