I miss Travis.
He’s not an ex-boyfriend, or ex-friend, or “the one that got away,” or anything like that.
Travis is the guy who cut my hair in college.
Travis doesn’t look like your average beautician. He looks like a guy no one’s dad wants them to date, aka the kind of guy I’m most attracted to. He’s a tattooed musician. What’s not to love, right?
That’s not why I miss Travis. Travis has magic hands. MAGIC HANDS. He gives these head massages that erase all bad thoughts and feelings, ease all pain and alleviate all headaches. Having one’s hair shampooed is one of the most relaxing things in the universe, but Travis took it to another level. His fingers could work on the back of the head and the base of the neck while simultaneously using his thumbs to massage the temple. Bliss. Euphoric bliss.
I got my hair cut yesterday and it looks really cute. The girl who did it did good work and I’ll visit her again, but sitting in the shampoo chair with her fingers tangled in my hair I had the same thought I’ve had almost every time I’ve gotten my haircut since I left Shawnee, OK: I miss Travis…and his magic hands.