Apparently it was something I said

I had a couple of hours yesterday afternoon that were good, not just better than lousy, but actually good. I even spoke with a few people, including the barber down the street who overcharged me for a lousy haircut, though he trimmed my beard, gave me my first professional shave (my face is now as smooth as a baby’s arse), and carefully removed those unsightly hairs that sprout from your ears once you get to be my age. At one point, he used the flame from an alcohol-soaked swab to burn away the buggers and though it didn’t hurt, the smell was nasty. And like a lot of non-western barbers, he massaged my head, shoulders, arms and hands. He even used one of those electric massage wands, which he ran over my crotch—twice no less—with a smile on his face! I don’t think I should have told him I was single and didn’t have any children.