An aspect of life in Madrid I may not have mentioned before: the astonishing number of haircutting shops (peluquerías). They're everywhere, like a bona fide infestation. Reminds me of the explosion of nail shops that occurred in some places stateside during the last decade.
I mention this because I need a cut and am trying to figure out what to do about it. During my year-plus here, my hair's been worked on three separate times, each one fairly disastrous. The first two cutters listened to how I wanted the job done then did what they wanted, which meant trying to give me the appearance of a man of business, an executive. Or something. There's a look that some business males here have, kind of a big, suavely-coiffed thing. It's not me. It's not even an alternate me, it's not even my evil twin. We all hate it. My last cut, maybe ten, eleven months ago: an out and out catastrophe that left me looking like a walking mushroom cloud. Since then I've mostly done trims myself, mostly with decent results. Mostly. Now and then, on the other hand... well, let's not go there.
So I'm debating, I'm deliberating. Do I go to one of the barrio's many cutting shops, maybe one of the wilder, more edgily-stylish ones, see what happens? Or do I grab the scissors and do it myself?
Whichever way it goes, it has to happen soon. I'm gaining weight fast, and it's all on top of my head.