Go Retire Psychiatrist

The other day I was out getting a haircut and then went out to the mall. Both experiences gave me chills.

The hair stylist asked me a question I’ve never heard before: “And would you like me to trim those eyebrows for you today?”

It struck me pretty hard because I heard that question before when I was at the barber shop several years ago. A stylist asked the exact same question to a guy who looked a hundred years old. He did have a pair of bushy eyebrows. I don’t remember what she did, but I didn’t look. I remember thinking, “Boy, you know you’re getting old when your eyebrows get shaggy.”

But I’ve been doing my best to use the special trimmer guard on my battery powered electric beard trimmer to take care of my eyebrows. It’s not like I didn’t notice them. Frankly, it doesn’t work that well, even though the guard is labelled specifically for eyebrows.

It’s probably hazardous to use it so close to my eyes. I accidentally cut my upper lip once in an overambitious effort to trim back my mustache. It healed quickly. Did you think I used the eyebrow trimmer guard for that? Do you think I’m a complete nincompoop? You’re right but that’s beside the point.

This time, I told her it would be fine to trim my eyebrows, saying “they sometimes get away from me,” evoking the memory of that ancient fellow in what now seemed like the recent past. I briefly thought of saying, “Please be gentle; this is my first time.”

She didn’t use an electric trimmer. She gently pressed a comb against my eyes (which forced me to close them) and used a pair of scissors to trim my eyebrows. It was a low-tech solution which worked just fine. But I would not have been able to do that myself. I’d already cut my lip just trying to shave my mustache, and I could see what I was doing—sort of. I would risk poking my eye out if I tried to trim my eyebrows the way maybe most stylists get the job done.

I felt like I was a hundred years old.

After that, I went over to the mall. There was a new addition, which looked like a scary combination of two contraptions, each with a set of bungee cords and a trampoline. The frames were massive and they reached about halfway to the ceiling. Kids no more than 10 years old and even some older kids were strapped into a safety seat which looked like it had two dozen or so big multi-colored rubber bands hooked to it.

The kids looked like they were having a great time, doing flips and getting encouragements from the crowd. I was astonished. Where were the mall cops when you needed them? In fact, they were nowhere in sight, probably vaping and jay-walking at a mall cops convention somewhere.

It took a little time for the criminals, I mean the contraption managers, to get the kids strapped in and the 40-page disclaimer and affidavit forms signed by the parents.

What was ironic is that suicide bungee contraption was right across the hall from the ice-skating rink. Ice skating can be a little hazardous, but the most harm you can get are maybe some bruises on your elbows and knees.

When me and my younger brother were kids, we got bicycles. Riding bicycles can be hazardous. My brother got a 20-inch gold-painted stingray with a banana seat and high-rise ape handlebars. Generally, if he fell off while doing tricks like drifts and fishtails, he could get away with a few scrapes from spinning out on loose gravel.

But what if those rubber bands break? I tell you, I must be getting older.