Missy-ing Person

Missy is the best hair stylist in KC. No kidding, the best. She�s a petite little thing who bleaches her own hair Q-tip white and adds the occasional purple or hot pink streak. She also sports more ink than Lydia the tattooed lady. And not just your typical gurly tats like roses, butterflies and unicorns. Missy proudly displays an every opening lotus blossom and a blue Lord Krishna making love...and those are just the ones that I have seen, since we only have a professional relationship.

What I like about Missy and her box of haircutting razors is that she knows how to cut the hair of a 33 year old professional man. At this developmental stage, we know longer want Billy Idol�s or Jon Bon Jovi�s hair, but we don�t want to look like a young Republican either. We have to walk that fine line between hip and looking ridiculous.

The trouble with Missy is that while she is good, she is also a free spirit. She and her razors tend to bounce from salon to salon and her loyal customers never know quite where she will be from one month to the next. Sometimes when Missy makes a move, she leaves word with her BF to tell my sister's BF to tell me where she is heading. Sometimes I lose track of her for months and my hair starts making me look like a Sunday School Jesus. My hair is below the collar and in my eyes. No amount of blow-drying or styling products will save it. I need a hair cut.

BTW: We all know that Jesus isn�t blond and green-eyed any place but Sunday school, right?

I ask around. No one knows where Missy has landed. I consider going to the hip part of town, standing in the middle of the street and screaming for Missy like Stanley screamed for Stella. Damn that girl and her good styling skills, no head for business. How hard would it to be to create a mailing list of her faithful customers and send out an E-mail everytime she moves?

Finally I resign myself that Missy has probably moved to more pleasant places than KC where it is a balmy 7 degrees today. Can�t say that I blame her. Someone else is just going to have to cut my hair.

The neighborhood where Michael and I have our office is in the process of becoming the new hip part of town. Houses are being remodeled and warehouses are turning into lofts. It�s good for us because suddenly there are several great restaurants within blocks. We like the Thai noodle shop. There�s even a new salon down the street, although I have never seen anybody in there. But what the heck, send some business to my neighbors, right?

I walk in.They are selling high-end (over priced) styling products so I am semi-reassured that this is not a $12 Fantastic Sam�s haircut joint. I ask for someone who can handle a razor cut. I want to look like Ryan Seacrest, not Jesus. The receptionist tells me that Missy is pretty good with a razor.

Could it be true? My missing Missy has been cutting hair 2 blocks from my office while I turn back into a hippie. They page her, she comes around the corner. We hug. She stands on her tip toes to ruffle my longish locks. �Damn JJ� she says �You need a haircut�

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