She was mortified, but had no idea how to fix it. That was back in the poverty days. The barber fixed it just fine. But, below is my very favorite barber story:

I used to let my hair grow until "it stopped by itself," as predicted in the song "Hair." I don't think I got it cut for about four years. Then, on a trip to Iowa, of all places, the former wife and I were staying at a hotel with an indoor pool. It was October. I wanted to take advantage of the pool, but a big sign said, "Guests with long hair must wear bathing caps." Since my hair was about middle back length, I assumed that applied to me.

Now, in Iowa in October, buying a bathing cap was impossible. I tried several places. So, what to do? Well, there was a barber shop in the hotel, luckily enough, so I walked in and took my seat in the chair. The nice barber lady asked how I'd like my hair cut. "Off," I said. "Short." "Are you sure?" she asked. "Yes," I replied. So all that hair went on the floor, and I went swimming. That was the end of my days as an obvious "filthy hippie." My former wife barely recognized me.

From then on, I've been getting a haircut every three or four months. That seems sufficient.