The aforementioned hairy beast is no other than yours truly. Now if you my loyal reader are confused, it is no wonder. Earlier this year I wrote a column about my going bald. But what a difference five months make, for it was approaching five months since I had had a haircut.

My hair was so long it would take a search party to locate my scalp; so long that I could feel my hair crawling down my neck; so long that in comparison to my hair, the Beatles look like they had crew cuts. I think you get the drift.

That all changed a few days ago when I asked Iris, my son’s girlfriend, if she would try giving me a haircut. Iris is an international model from The Netherlands, and I am of the firm belief that the Dutch can do anything they set their mind to. My bride bought Iris a long comb and hair cutting scissors from CVS, and before long Iris sat me down on the patio and started to clip away here, there, and everywhere.

My long gray locks fell from head to towel like leaves from a tree. It was not long before my son Isaac decided to get into the act, and picked up where Iris left off. He even did my eyebrows with some buzzing piece of equipment. During this entire time I did not look into a mirror once, and simply prayed that when this was all over I would be presentable, not that it matters since I rarely go out in public anymore.

This hair cutting couple pronounced their job complete, and I went to find a mirror. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that rarely have I had a better haircut. Why this couple could give up their jobs and become hair stylists of the first order.

Now I won’t need a second haircut for at least another five months, and when I feel my hair once again creeping down my neck, I sure hope Iris and Isaac are back in Malibu.

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