Short Back 'n Sides and a Liver Transplant, Please

As I write this, the top of my head is a post-shampoo fluff-fro. Kind of like the bit of muffin that sticks out above the paper cup.

In the mornings, pre-wash, I look like Morrissey and Ace Ventura's lovechild, and if I try to flatten it I look like I’m auditioning for a Beatles tribute band.

Back in thirteenth century Europe you could get a haircut, beard trim, and an abscess drained. Part of a barber’s job description was surgery.

The monks had to undergo bloodletting, but were forbidden to shed blood themselves. So they passed this task on to the barbers, who used to pop in to cut and shave them anyway.

Doctors didn’t mind, and considered bloodletting and other such minor surgery as beneath them anyway, so it worked out quite well.

This went on for 600 years. Ambroise Pare, considered by some medical historians as the father of modern surgery, was a barber-surgeon in Paris around 1533.

He went on to become an army surgeon and personal physician to four French monarchs. In his time he introduced the implantation of teeth, pioneered the use of artificial limbs and eyes, and found a better way to treat gunshot wounds than boiling oil.

He was also directly involved with the invention of the brushcut and mullet, but these never really took off until Bloemfontein was discovered.

I think I read somewhere that Shaolin monks shave their heads because they see a hairstyle as a material possession – a big no-no! This wasn’t in one of those Dalai Lama books, mind, or even a reputable publication of any sort.

In all probability it’s really just so there’s no hair-pulling in kung-fu practice.

I considered taking my head to a professional (you can read that any way you want), but then Lucy suggested I just let her cut it.

She disappeared and then came back into the room with the sides of her mouth curled into an evil grin and a maniacal, swirling vortex-like look in her eyes.

In her hand she had a pair of scissors. She snipped them forebodingly.

I just hope I have ears left after she’s done.

Words: Nathan Casey
Pic: Lucy Yearling