The Barber of the Ville

This is a day late because I got all busy with Sarah coming home to visit, tithing settlement and the Wildcats basketball game. Oh well, 'tis the season.

Several centuries ago when Babs and I first got married, we decided that we could save a bunch of money by having her cut my hair. So we bought some clippers and away she went. For the next umpty-and-a-half years she ran the Barbara Shop cutting not only my hair but that of our six sons and sometimes their friends. Some of them didn't have haircuts from anyone else until their missions. We saved tons of money.

However, as the years flew by it became more and more difficult to have her cut my hair. She had to be in the right mood (NO ONE wants a haircut from someone who's not in the mood), the light had to be right, the planets had to be aligned, etc. Besides, she no longer enjoyed it. So, being the kind soul that I am, I told her that I would just get it cut at the BX barbershop.

All went well until she happened to be with me one day and saw me tip the lady that cut my hair. She was incensed. "YOU GAVE HER A TIP!" "YOU NEVER TIPPED ME!
"You got my entire paycheck." says I, "You could have taken a tip out of it." I solved the situation almost three years ago when I started shaving my head. I am the captain of my soul, I am the master of my pate.

Which brings me to the reason for the title. A while back the sister that is the president of the Sunday School class I teach told me she was going to have chemo therapy and asked if I would shave her head if she started losing her hair. I said certainly and soon thereafter she called and I did.

Yesterday Brother Doane, who is a member of our Bishopric and has been undergoing chemo, called and asked me to shave his head. He said I came highly recommended. It was much easier since he is a Korean War veteran with much less and thinner hair than Sister Simpson. So that makes three heads I have shaved and haven't lost one yet.