Old Timers

The Barber Shop in the square, Watertown Mass., is a bastion of all that is male. As you enter, you walk past the old step-crank chairs to a small waiting room in the back. There, you can admire the artwork on the walls, named Tammy, Vanessa, Misty and Heather, moving from left to right, and you can peruse the various reading materials, all titles beginning with "P", arranged in vertical racks.

I felt a little conspicuous there, reading my dog-eared copy of the 9/11 Commission Final Report.

There are three barbers, two young, one old. Of course it would be the old guy who finally called me up from the "men den". He immediately spied my reading glasses, and realized we shared a bond. So while the other two barbers discussed the Red Sox and Patriots with their customers, mine talked to me about reading glasses, spine curvature and cholesterol.

So I guess I'm now the "old guy" at the barber shop. When did that happen?