i am a hairy guy.
not as hairy as chewbacca, though (although i've been nicknamed as such), but i am what you may call in Filipino as "balbon." in a month's time, i think my hair grows at least an inch longer, so if i were very fussy with my hair, i'd have to visit the barbershop twice a month.
back in high school, my mother would always remind me about getting a haircut on weekends. she'd brand me as a drug addict or a rebel, whichever came to mind first.
(of course, she knew better. i'm only a drug addict as far as Vicks and other mentholated products are concerned).
i only got to grow my hair long two years ago. my oh my, i remember a night when some teeners whistled at me, thinking i was some sexy gal. and another instance, when i was sitting beside the jeepney driver, when a fellow passenger felt my sides with his elbow. my oh my...
alisa never tires of laughing about those instances of mistaken identity. me, my big old me, being mistaken for a woman?
but since i cut my hair a year ago, alisa also has never tired of saying i'm handsome. aw schucks... yes, she tells me i am handsome, of how lucky she is that she had married a handsome guy.
i am not writing fiction here. yes, i know... it is hard to believe. but there she is, always saying those words, never tiring.
and what is the price for all those sweet words?
i have to get my hair cut every time she tells me to do so. just like this morning. and i remember my whimpering every time my mother told me to get a haircut.
i whimpered again this morning.
"huh? ngayon na? pwede pa 'to, a."
"ayan o, ang haba na. abot na nga tenga mo e."
"eeewww.... next time na lang..."
"mamaya. dumaan ka sa barbero, ok?"
and so, after playing at work, i went to the barbershop. there he was, the man who also gave me a hair cut almost a month ago, sitting placidly on his chair.
i walk towards him, and smile.
it feels so nice to pamper one's self once in a while, neh?