And then he took the clippers and came right at my face. The front of it.

I've seen Sweeney Todd folks. More than once. Hell, I was almost in it once. And therefore, when a barber comes at the non-hair part of my face hole - the eyenosemouth part. I do not react well. I ain't gonna be no meat pie ya'll.

This Wednesday was no different. When my man Ky finished evening off my sides, he swung the cord of his vibrating slicer around to the other side of the elevated chair I sat upon, and came at my face. My neck reeled back so hard, if the chair hadn't been driven into the floor with a metal rod, I swear I would have back somersaulted right out of the shop. Look, I figure, if my neck gets a little bloody from the irritated hair follicles, so be it. But I've broken my nose too many times already (3), and that face-bleeding ship has sailed forever.

Ky was not expecting my defense. He jumped back himself in reaction to me putting the full force of my seated weight into bucking my body against the cushioned back of the chair. The choreography of this sword dance was made all the more hilarious by the fact that I was draped in a black smock, making me and my jerky head movements resemble a poorly behaved Wack-A-Mole.

"Easy there brother," said Ky.

I've been coming to his barber shop off and on for a decade, and this was Ky's first assault attempt. I had to admit it seemed out of character for him, as he is the one of the most positive, empowered, community-based entrepreneurs (and people) I've interacted with in western Mass.

It turns out, unsurprisingly in retrospect, that I was wrong. Specifically, I was wrong about the eyesnosemouth part of my face being a vast hairless expanse. It is, in truth, not. Specifically, the nose part. As my body finished recoiling from my escape attempt and once again settled in the chair, Ky, much more slowly this time, inched his clippers towards the inboxes of my olfactory center.

This time, physically I felt much safer, but emotionally I was devastated. I'm not even 40 and already I needed visible yard work done on my rebellious nose hairs. I mean, this kinda brush clearing shouldn't be happening for another 20 years, when I expect my then barber to use all manner of spinning blades to clear cut the overgrown white weeds popping from every facial orifice like an invasive species burst into infestation after being brought to a foreign land with no natural predators.


Maybe all this preemptive hair is the result of a defense mechanism initiated by the repeated trauma to my nose area? Like my nose creating its own styrofoam padding. Maybe the copious amounts of nasal hair is karma for still having hair on my noggin when, genetically speaking, that is an extremely improbable outcome that came to fruition. Whatever the reason, this follicular development has forced me to rethink my entire self-defense protocol. I must absorb the new information that every once and awhile a person will come at my face with a blade, and their purpose will be beneficial (benefacial?) not maniacal.

Even still, best to keep me contained under one of those smocks when attempting this particular facial slicing. Otherwise, there's a good chance this Wack-A-Mole might wack back.