Reflections on a haircut

Getting a haircut has become one of my favorite miniature holidays. I can only afford to have my hair done a few times a year, and it's usually only a trim. Even so, some time ago, I remember a beautiful experience I had while looking in the mirror at my old hair salon.

The salon was very ornate. The rows of shiny chairs were covered in sheer plastic sheets that wrap around the shoulders, snapping in the back. There was soft music playing quietly with the clink of icecubes in tumblers, customers leaning back over white porcelin sinks with cucumbers over their eyes. Old women were tangled with the young, each in their own quiet world. The dim twinkling of sacred conversation between hair stylist and woman kept up a quiet hum that caused me to become sleepy and comfortable under my warm plastic tent. The mirrors stretched their shiny depths from floor to ceiling, the images of the people spread out over many of them at once, so that one could observe them quietly without notice.

It was the mirrors that bothered me, but caught my attention. I've always been somewhat self-conscious, particularly then, while I was a teenager. Even now my reflection scattered over several mirrors still unnerves me............