Beware, lest the ‘remedy’ make you scream

THERE are some places from childhood that don’t just stick in your memory - they cling, like the scent of old aftershave in a barbershop.

- GREY MUTTER BY LANCE FREDERICKS

For me, one such place was Mac’s Barbershop on Barkly Road. It sits right at the top of my memory list.

Yes, a few decades ago, I had hair. Lots of it. So much, in fact, my parents probably feared I’d end up looking like Cousin Itt from The Addams Family if they kept me from Mac's for too long.

I loved those visits. Not the buzzing clippers, mind you — you learned early to sit very still, unless you wanted a crooked “hap” on the back of your head. No, it was the walls that fascinated me: yellowed calendars, dusty photographs, and wooden plaques with one-liners that ranged from cheeky to downright confusing.

One read: “It begins when you sink into his arms...” — with a man offering flowers to a woman. Next to it: “... and ends up with your hands in the sink.” — with a very unimpressed wife.

Classic!

There were over a dozen, and I have forgotten most of them, except the one I could never understand.