Bob and the Turkish Barber

Bob was beginning to look like the wild man of the woods so after much prodding from me consented to go to the barber next to our hotel for a quick beard trim and hair cut.  Meanwhile, thinking the cut and trim would only take the usual 15 minutes, I went to our rooms to make some sandwiches for lunch.  After preparations I sat down to do some research on the web and waited... and waited.  After more than an hour I decided I better go searching for him, expecting to find him chatting with the guys in the restaurant downstairs.

There was Bob reclining shirtless in the barber chair with a mud pack on his face and a look in his eyes like a kangaroo caught in headlights.  When he saw me he glared and warned ‘Don’t you laugh’ which of course I couldn’t help but do.  

Then he bleated, ‘They won’t stop.  They just won’t stop.’  

‘But just tell them to stop,’ I chuckled incredulously.

‘I can’t.  They are holding a cutthroat razor!’, poor Bob laments.

While trying desperately to suppress my laughter Bob tells me the sorry details of his metro man grooming.  They put burning hot wax on his ears and ripped off the hairs, which was incredibly painful.  (Ladies, I ask you – is waxing not something we willingly subject ourselves to?) They put no less than three different instruments up his nose to trim the hair.  They plastered on creams and ointments and mud packs. They trim and scraped and trimmed again.  Bob was sure if I hadn’t intervened they would have started to wax his nipples.

Despite the torture and affront to Bob’s pride, the results are great.  It is the best haircut I have ever seen on Bob and his skin looks 10 years younger.  I better enjoy it while I can because I am quite sure he will never go through such an ‘ordeal’ again!

 

The well-groomed Bob