The Haircut Indeterminacy

I may have complained about this before, but it's been a while - probably a long while - since I mentioned it. My cross to bear. My public shame. The thing that keeps me awake at night as I silently sob. What could get me as emotional as a spinster watching Brian's Song?
   I cannot get a good hair cut.
   Which is not entirely true. I have gotten good hair cuts once in a great while, which is how I know that a good hair cut and my head can exist in the same place at the same time. What I mean is I cannot usually get a good hair cut most of the time. Like right now, if you could see me you'd see a mushroom-y sort of thing, where the top is disproportionately longer than the sides so my head looks like I'm sprouting a Portobello above my eyebrows.
   Other times, when I've been subject to the tender mercies of a different butcher with scissors it can look like I've sprouted wings above my ears or like I've got the beginnings of a mullet working on my neck.
   I don't get it. These guys go to barber school. They're licensed. They've been in business for years, decades even. And yet when I sit in their chairs I know that no matter what I say my hair cut is going to look good for a day or two, maybe inside of a week, before it all goes to shaggy Hell.
   There was one barber who never gave me a bad hair cut. JB. Had his own shop down on Austin Highway. He used to cut my father's hair when my father was in high school, no lie. When I started going to see him JB had largely retired, so I had to choose my days carefully. Now he's almost certainly retired, maybe passed on to that Great Barbershop in the Sky. And with him goes my chance of ever getting a good hair cut regularly.
   This is why some guys shave their heads, I'm convinced. My problem is that if I shaved my head I'd look like a mental patient or a serial killer. Or a serial-killing mental patient. I have a lumpy head underneath my mushroom hair.
   Which, now that I think of it, might be the problem.