I did it.  Yesterday, around three-ish, I went to my barber, one of those rinky-dink, cinder-block square buildings with tile floors that don't get swept often enough.  Danny's hired an old new guy, which is to say the recent hire was pushing 70, easy.  Worse, Danny is busy with a customer.  It makes me nervous when (a) I haven't tried a new barber, (b) someone with razor sharp instruments can't hold their hands steady, and (c) he's completely bald.  (The last point makes me want to ask for "The Emperor's New Haircut," though I imagine that's a little higher-brow than anyone in the establishment would laugh at.)  Less than ten minutes later, my topcoat has been sliced, diced, and crafted into the snap-on Lego-toupee I'll proudly display for the next five weeks until it gets shaggy again.