Tricia's Place

Haircut: Option 1
You shell out a chunk of cash to get a trim from the Hair Guru at the Attitudinous Salon of the Moment. You’re barked at by the receptionist (“You’re three minutes late. I’ll see if Genius is still available”). You get the old one-two-three from the prima donna peanut gallery (“Oh. My. She is wearing pedal pushers, how very last June!”) You don’t even get a head massage with shampoo (“Francois Frou Frou is behind schedule”), and Hair Genius informs you that your hair is “tired.” Thus, his assistant will shear your mop. You walk out and take a good look. You have a blown out, moussed up, highlighted shag. It’s Pat Benatar circa 1981.

Look who’s “tired” now.

Haircut: Option 2
You hit Trish’s place, where owner Trish oddly enough, feels like your best pal (a daffy, English Bridget Jones type who appreciates the joys of Finesse too!). She chats you up while playing it real (she’s also the shampoo gal, the DJ, and the receptionist). You groove out to Bob Marley turned way up, chat about yoga, astrology, and the cute boys at Cafe Habana. The old Italian guy comes by thinking that Tricia’s is still the local barber shop, and she gladly trims the five hairs on his head. You walk out with the haircut you asked for. From the woman you asked to see. You even like it.

Option 1? Option 2? Your call.