November 4th 2020
Today I managed to squeeze in a pre-lockdown haircut. The barber gods did not want to make it easy for me, though.
I’d planned to come into the office today for a, and I’m sorry for saying this because everyone is saying this, “last supper” with work people. We were going to go out for lunch because from tomorrow we’ll not be able to go out for lunch anymore.
And so, I booked a haircut because of course I wanted to look good for lunch, but also because if this 4 week lockdown turns out to be a 4 month lockdown, I’d’ve been blinded by my own fringe come the end of it.
Then this morning I get an email saying my haircut was cancelled. Oh no. I’d gone into work, but then, because of a potential covid exposure from one of the team, we all decided to bin off the last supper and go home instead. I’m reasonably sure there’s some biblical relevance to ‘skipping the last supper’, but I am not theologically inclined enough to know what it is.
So while everyone else went home, I tried walking into the place who had cancelled my appointment. Nope. Oh well.
And so, I went to a place that for years we have mocked. For years we have ridiculed the Barbershop across the road from where I work because of it’s ridiculous name, and it’s even more ridiculous grammar:
Boy’z 2 Men’z.
Gross. Why are there possessive pronouns? Why are the Z’s where there should be S’s? Gross.
Alas, it was my only hope.
To be fair to them, the haircut wasn’t bad. I just can’t take that name seriously.
Until tomorrow, boy’z 2 men’z, really?