Day 55 (24 August 2010) – My First French Haircut

At first it might not make sense but today I felt like a little boy being sent off to the barbershop by his mother on a Saturday with enough money for a haircut and bottle of pop. Either I’d been dreaming about being Opie in an Andy Griffith episode, or something about Nantes is making me feel nostalgic. It’s not that I remember my mom ever sending me off to get my haircut like that.

It might have been that I left on foot late this morning to the salon de coiffure, walking on picturesque side streets under a beautiful blue sky, slight breeze and sun. I could picture Opie riding up beside me on his bike and saying hey. There’s something about these walks I take that contribute to me feeling relaxed. They’re quiet and peaceful, yes. But I think the biggest part of it is that I don’t have 25 things waiting to get done, all making me feel like I need to hurry, hurry, hurry. And that’s where I think the nostalgic thing is really kicking in. I’m feeling like a kid on summer vacation, a feeling I haven’t had since, well, I was a kid.

The monsieur who cut my hair was extremely friendly and nice. He didn’t speak any English to me, other than the word “ok,” which I think can actually qualify as both an English and a French word. He did a great job with my hair, completing the job with a flair involving hair gel that made me appreciate having short hair as much for it looking good as it being so easy to maintain.

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