When I was growing up, the one thing I hated was getting a haircut. I wanted my hair long. But short crewcut was the style, and then when it was okay to grow your hair out to any length- my mom took out a stock certificate in Brylcreem (for those of you too young to know what that is, google it, you will never be the same. lol)
Then I finally got to high school and convinced my mom that I wanted to let it grow long. It grew, and grew. And then the Army cut it all off. It gives a whole new meaning to the word Skinhead when those guys get through with you.
After I got out, I refused to cut it, and it started growing and it grew down my back. I would cut it when it got so heavy that my head kept jerking back, but it grew rather quickly, and within a few months it had to be trimmed again.
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Well, now I just wish I had some hair. What little I have still grows like wildfire. There just appears to be a lot of scorched land in between. :-)
So, today is friday the 8th and I finally get to have my haircut. I will walk in to the salon, Joe will smile and wave, his wife will probably be seated at the desk as I enter, and I will let him have a go at it once again. I don't keep it long now, but I can't stand for it to touch my ears (about the only place it will touch anymore) so she will wash and he will trim it and I'll go home happy.
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Little does he know how much pleasure that brings me to have a new "do" that feels breathable again. Yes, he charges for his service. But you can tell he also likes what he is doing, and enjoys it probably most of the time.
So today, whatever you're doing, whatever you've done, take a minute and be grateful for having the skills and knowledge to complete the task. And if you're still doing it, try to remember, someone on the other end may be enjoying it!