As she grabs my head and drags it to the left, then to the right, I'm helpless...I obey her every…read morecommand...when I move wrong, she frowns, pushes harder...I obey quickly, fearing the consequences of disobedience...she reaches next to me and lifts the long black tool, checking to make sure it's fully charged...the sound of buzzing sends shivers down my spine as she says, softly, her voice accented with foreign mysteries..."You like back square, yes? And clean up eyebrows?"
Ah...the wonderful Irma at Knights in Dundrum has been the salvation of my very very difficult to manage curly/cowlicky/disobedient (and slowly thinning, dammit) locks since I finally found somebody who actually knows how to CUT hair, not just run a set of clippers around it until I look like a football hooligan.
This small shop sports 4 chairs and a multiplicity of nationalities serving their customers. My personal barber, who I will wait through three rounds of other offers of help until she's free if I have to, uses the scissors, the clippers, and the straight razor to keep me in fine trim. All that and a shampoo for 20 quid and plus a generous tip.
Now, they aren't the most chatty group with their customers, most being from foreign countries that as a die-hard Californian I find it genetically impossible to remember (Latvia? Lithuania? Louisiana?), and I'm pretty sure she never remembers who I am until I'm in the chair and she looks at me criticly to say despairingly "Ah, yes, you always shave too high on this side, I cannot to make evens", but I've seen them work with everybody from grumpy aul' fellas to squirrely kids, and do a great job all the way around.
Bottom Line: If you're not a metrosexual but do appreciate a bit of manscaping to keep the Dumbledore look to a minimum, let them strap a collar around you and go to work...