I bullied a barber into cutting my fringe. It was a terrible mistake

On a day as hot as hell, the only thing I felt I could remove without offence was my fringe. I went into a barber and asked him to cut it; he protested that barbers are for men and that men's hair and women's hair are completely different. I insisted and he agreed; the cut took about a tenth of the time of my usual haircut and cost about 17 times less.

I've worn a very short fringe before for fashion, and I remember that era because every time I saw my late mother she started whistling medieval ballads. Her repertoire was astonishing. They say you'll miss things when they're gone, and I do not miss this. This micro-fringe, or 'baby bangs' as Americans call them, makes me look as if my ears stick out, which they do not.

My father's ears, however, did. People called him toby jug and wing nut, and nobody ever said cheers without adding 'big ears'. Perhaps that contributed to his and my mother's split, or perhaps there were other factors.

fringe, baby bangs, barber, haircut, micro-fringe, men's hair, women's hair, ears, medieval ballads, toby jug