Before taking off on vacation this evening, I went for my customary pre-trip hair cut. I was lucky: when I went in, Fergie was sitting in the barber chair by himself reading the paper and saw me right away; ten minutes later there were 5 men waiting to see him. Here’s what happened:
I get my hair cut about three times a year (I think: I can’t remember between times, so it must be about three times, as 100 days is about the length of my short term memory). There was a lot more grey hair on the floor this time than last time.