Um ein Haar

Today was a momentous day! I finally got a haircut. As it turned out, having consulting mobile phone and SMS evidence, it was exactly six months to the day since I'd been to Dee's for the last one (not December 16th as previously thought).
I'd have been pissed off if I found out I didn't make the self-imposed six month shearing famine, but to be honest there wasn't another moment to lose. My hair was getting ridiculous! It was bad enough being called a mushroom about a month ago, then a woolly mammoth, then a Beatle; but yesterday someone told me I was from the "80er Jahre". That was the final straw. The fucking 80s! The decade which should be banished to to history, ignored like it never existed. Of course in Germany the 80s has always been in fashion, probably even before the 80s began.
It was time to act. For the first time I could ever remember, I could feel my hair blowing in the wind when I cycled, billowing like a mermaid's. But my head was heavy. The heat was unbelievable. I was starting to feel a sheep was actually living on my head, or at least his fur anyway. Something needed to be done! Jana recommended Friseur Kaiserschnitt for "sehr gute, coole Haarschnitte" but they were booked up 'til Monday, so I turned to the interweb for advice. Someone called Injured Ninja wrote the following on Toytown: "Go to Haarschneiderei on Pappelallee in Prenzlauer Berg. I can't recommend them highly enough ... their haircuts are always fantastic."
I presumed the poor ninja wasn't injured getting a haircut or he wouldn't have written a review like that, so up I went. The girl's eyes widened when she saw me. Mouth opened and closed. She almost dropped the scissors she was holding.
"Ja ja, es ist ganz dick," said I, stating the obvious. "Ich will das dunner haben."
She gulped. Beckoned me to a chair. A bead of sweat ran down her brow. She asked me to wait a little while. Presumably so she could gather her nerves.
The place itself was funky à la Berlin. Groovy beats. Low sofas and armchairs. A fancy coffee table featuring a selection of fashion magazines casually laid out for perusal. Playboy included. A long white skinny pointy dog lay spread out in front of the table. Evidently he'd already read all the magazines.
It was time! After washing my hair, the girl gathered enough courage to tackle the mop. "Just do what you want," I told her. "Just make it better." I didn't care anymore. The wait was over!


  1. Merci ma chérie! Je dois t'envoyer un email depuis longtemps. À bientôt!

  2. whats with the gay highlights....homo...jaysus the boys in castro are going to lourve you!


  3. No highlights there my homophobic friend. I'm sure the Castro boys would love me just the way I am! Strange that you're studying the pictures so thoroughly by the way...

  4. Haircut or Haircomb? Or are the pictures 'Before' and 'Before'?

  5. Jaysus! There are more comments on my hair than on any other posts I've posted. What's the story? The pictures, for those sceptical smart-arse types, are of course, "before" and "after".
    Your wan actually cut off quite a lot of hair. There was quite a mound on the floor when she'd finished - enough to keep a small dog warm through the Berlin winter, which, or so I've heard, is always damn cold.
    Apparently now though, I need another haircut. Just over a week since the last one! The hedgehog comparisons have started already...

  6. Moi aussi!!! We're both so bad!! Et j'ai tellement de choses à te dire!!!
    j'adore ton blog, il est vraiment super bien fait

  7. Merci encore! Peut être maintenant il y a un petit email dans ton "ordinateur".
    Alors, moi aussi j'ai besoin de nouvelles. En particulier si tu m'as si beaucoup de choses à me dire!!

    Merde, je crois que c'est plus difficile d'écrire en Français que j'avais pensé...


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