Homme Super

I (Bob) finally got myself a hair cut -- something I had been putting off because of the conversation necessary to describe what I want. I entered the salon de coiffure as if I was fluent in French, with a Bonjour Monsieur. Comment allez-vous? Je peux avoir une coupe? (Hello Sir, how are you? Can I have a cut?) To which he said yes, told me to sit, and went to fetch a fresh cape. When he returned he said something to me, so I inferred he was asking me how I would like my hair to look. I asked if he spoke English. Pas de tout Monsieur. (Not at all.) D'accord. Mes cheveux sont trop loin. (OK, my hair is too long.) That was all I had, as if he didn't know why I was visiting his shop. At least this time I didn't say Mes chevaux sont trop loin (My horses are too long.)

He set to work with a 10-minute flurry of thinning shears distributed around ma tête (my head). At around minute 7 I knew that if I told him my hair needs to be cut, not thinned, it would be offensive. Then he took out a straight razor and set to cutting short select hairs, and dry shaving my neck. For his final act he took a hair dryer and heat-set a strategically placed part opposite of my hair's natural part. When he was finished he said, Voila! Je suis artist non? (There you have it. I am an artist, no?) Oui! Trés bien. Merci beaucoup Monsieur. (Yes. Very nice. Thank you very much Sir.) No scissors used; just thinning shears and a straight razor. And now I look like Superman when he excised his powers to become a normal human for Lois and he ends up getting his butt kicked at some truckstop diner in Alaska.