Your hair gives you bother as long as you have it and more bother
when it starts to go. You are always doing something for it and
it is always showing deep-dyed ingratitude in return; or else the
dye isn't deep enough, which is even worse. Hair is responsible
for such byproducts as dandruff, barbers, wigs, several comic
weeklies, mental anguish, added expense, Chinese revolutions, and
the standard joke about your wife's using your best razor to open
a can of tomatoes with. Hair has been of aid to Buffalo Bill,
Little Lord Fauntleroy, Samson, The Lady Godiva, Jo-Jo, the
Dog-Faced Boy, poets, pianists, some artists and most mattress
makers, but a drawback and a sorrow to Absalom, polar bears in
captivity and the male sex in general.

This assertion goes not only for hair on the head but for hair on
the face. Let us consider for a moment the matter of shaving.
If you shave yourself you excite a barber's contempt, and there
is nobody whose contempt the average man dreads more than a
barber's, unless it is a waiter's. And on the other hand, if you
let a barber shave you he excites not your contempt particularly,
but your rage and frequently your undying hatred. Once in a
burst of confidence a barber told me one of the trade secrets of
his profession--he said that among barbers every face fell into
one of three classes, it being either a square, a round or a
squirrel. I know not, reader, whether yours be a square or a
round or a squirrel, but this much I will chance on a venture,
sight unseen--that you have your periods of intense unhappiness
when you are being shaved.

I do not refer so much to the actual process of being shaved.