Wait, Fin, you've already posted about getting your haircut, are you sure y-
Hey, hold it Mr. Narrator italicized font guy, check the name of this blog and slow your roll.
The reason this post is monumental (slight hyperbole there) is that after four haircuts and not getting my hair washed (the best part of a haircut, Dad says), I got the courage mustered up to clean my noggin before I got it cut.
That's Josie, the girl who cuts my hair. One of the sweeter (weirder) tattoos you'll see is owned by Josie - a pair of haircutting scissors, technically known as shears, runs from her right elbow all the way down to her hand. Maybe I'll just stick with crayons.
Anyway, suds...
Cut and dry...
And not only the softest, cleanest hair I've had in four years and four months, but a Tootsie Pop from Josie; not a bad evening at the hair salon.
