My BF said I needed a haircut... Part 2 by William

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I was way overdue for a haircut. My hair was now going to about waist-length and my boyfriend had been harassing me for weeks to go and get one. I was having a really busy time at work, so I hadn't found the time to fit one into my schedule. Finally, I managed to find a day when I was free.
In the space between then, my BF offered to cut my hair for me, but there was no way I was letting him within a mile of my hair, thanks to his love of short hair. When the day came, I was hoping that he would be busy, because I had completely forgotten to think about choosing a haircut, because of the mountain of work that I was consistently given everyday. I knew if he knew that, it would be a disaster for any chance of me keeping some of my hair. No matter how persuasive I was, he is a very stubborn person and insisted to come with me.
I entered, and was surprised to find my friend and her wife (who works in the barbers). They were talking and I didn't want to interrupt, but she gestured me in.
'Hi! We were just talking about you.'
'We saw your name on the booking chart and I was betting you wouldn't go shorter than your last cut.'
I was just halfway through saying that she was completely right, when my boyfriend butted in, saying that I'd love a change of hair. I was sat down in the chair, but not before shooting a friendly glare at him. I felt my hair being doused in water, and the comforting feeling of the comb running through my silky, light-brown hair. This process was considerably long, thanks to the density and length of my hair, but it came unpleasantly fast when the hands reached for those all-too-familiar clippers.
'You should know the drill by now. Head down please!'
Closing my eyes, I felt my long fringe on my face for what would probably be the last time in a long while. I could feel the locks floating down my back in great chunks, as the back was shaved. The hum of the clippers carving off the hair at the sides sent shivers down my spine. Within a matter of minutes, my magnificent mane was spread in a thick carpet across the floor. The rouge strands resting on my neck were soon brushed off, but this time, I knew better than to humiliate myself by standing up. This time, instead of simply shaving it off immediately, it was so long that she had to get it into a ponytail and cut it into a shorter length, so as to make it easier to reduce to a buzz cut... Or shorter. The monotonous drone signaled the back and forth movement, from fringe to crown, again and again, taking off less and less, until they stopped. Whereas last time, I was halted at a number 4 buzz cut, I was now staring at a number 3, about one centimeter shorter than previously. The finishing touches were added, fading the edges to the skin and going over the ears again. My boyfriend was happy with the result, it seemed. He told me that it looked great and he loved rubbing the spiky tips of the hair. My barber and friend agreed. And I have to say, the buzz cut is starting to grow on me. I was keeping my hair long then, but I was starting to think of getting it out of my own accord, and not just an insistent boyfriend.

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