OK, OK, so in London, I did see another barber on occasion! But I was so far away.

Now, I'm in Pennsylvania, and it just doesn't seem right to go to a barber here. In only three hours, I could be back in that familiar chair in Connecticut, feeling his scissors snipping my hair, smelling his hair tonic...

But those closer, candy-striped poles beckon to me, with their "come hither" look, every day. What to do? I am being torn apart!


  1. Speaking of "candy-striped poles" Do you know ~frogs are from tadpoles while toads are hatched from eggs~? If you do know it, humm the words. I think it's from an old Zappa album.

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