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Barber’s Shop.

I needed a haircut my wife had been on at me for a number of days to go to the barber. I strolled into town. A sunny day raised my spirits and I felt quite perky. I think on my way to the Barbers shop I must have greeted a dozen or more strangers giving each a smile. I had not felt so good for a long time.

The Barbers Shop came into sight, I slowed my step down after all It was my wife that wanted me to have my hair cut , not me I like my hair, that is what is left of it to grow so that I can kid myself that I am still the handsome young man that I was many years ago.

Pushing open the door I greeted. Old Mr. Dobman was sitting in one of the chairs. The Barber greeted me told me to have a seat and carried on cutting Mr. Dobman’s hair. How is the wife? He asked Mr. Dobman. This started the old boy off good and proper. She can’t cook and that is a fact. Sunday’s dinner a lovely bit of beef that I bought myself at the Butchers. She ruined it. I tell you it was as black as the Ace of Spades. Whoever taught that woman to cook wants to get his or her money back. Even a fried egg is a surprise packet when it comes on to the table. I should have married her Sister, now that is a woman that can cook.

The Barber made many sympathetic noises as he listened to old Mr. Dobman’s ranting and raving over his poor wife. Just as the Barber was putting the finishing touches to his neat trim on Mr. Dobman’s hair, the door flew open. A woman’s voice spoke what is taking so long? Mr. Dobman, Oh! God it’s the wife. The Barber turned toward the door, Madam if you are referring to this Gentleman, I have cut his hair very quickly as he can vouch. Mrs: Dobman, OH! He can vouch all right he is never satisfied. FComplains all day long, first of all he brings a chunk of beef home that I would not give to a dog and expects me to cook it, I’ll have you all know my name is not Mrs Beaton. My oven is out of order it does not bake it is much too hot and burns everything that I put in it. If the tight old git would buy me a new oven like I have asked him to, many a time, he might get a proper cooked meal. Shouting at Mr. Dobman she called pay the man and get on home you have wasted too much time in this so called Barber shop, wouldn’t be surprised if it was not a gambling den wouldn’t be at all surprised. Mr. Dobman put a few coins into the Barber’s hand and went off with his wife; I could hear her complaints right down the road.

The Barber looked at me and said, thank Goodness you aren’t married. Just a light trim I would think. I agreed and while I was in the Barber’s shop silence was the rule of the day. I was afraid that if I mentioned Mr. Dobman the barber would have told me many things that I did not want to know after all it is none of my business. I will continue to go to the Barber’s shop but I will make sure that Mr and Mrs Dobman do not come in while I am having my trim. By the way I told the Barber that I was not married. My wife would never show me up in public. I would never belittle her cooking my wife is an excellent cook and it is none of the Barbers business, is it says your scribbler Bern.