Two days ago, I met MAK. This is notable because we had never met before, and we had to report in advance what we would be wearing so we would recognize each other. He had said he would be wearing only boxer briefs, but that is another story and, as it happens, a lie.

Anyway, I told him I was getting a haircut that morning, and that if I did not like how it came out, I would be wearing a baseball cap. (My only baseball cap is black with a white Apple logo on it. This is not crucial to the story, but I will take any opportunity to link to Apple.) As the morning progressed, I did not actually feel like getting a haircut, but I went through with it anyway because I said I was going to. I have nothing if not my integrity.

My stylist was a French woman named Celine. Though she presumably spoke to me in English, I could not understand a thickly accented word she said (except possibly for “scalp”). So while she chattered on with her funny talk, I felt free to let my gaze wander, which turned out to be a mistake because I noticed something that completely freaked me out. Although I am not sure I could convey the exact scene here, I shall attempt to do so. I am nothing if not your faithful correspondent.

In the salon I went to, some of the stations were set up in the middle of the room against freestanding walls: that is, a narrow wall with mirrors on both sides, so two stylists could work against it, one per side. Celine had one of those stations, so as I was getting my hair cut facing the mirrored wall, I could hear someone getting his or her hair cut on the other side of the wall, facing toward me. Get it?

But the mirrors were not floor-to-ceiling . . . they began only halfway up the wall. Below the mirror was a narrow shelf, and below the shelf was a wide hole, through which, if one looked, one could see the legs of the person getting his or her hair cut on the other side of the wall. Except, not paying very much attention at first, I had assumed it was a full-length mirror, bisected by a shelf. Everyone getting their hair cut was wearing a full-length black drape, so looking at the wall, I could see upper half in the mirror, and underneath, a set of black-draped legs that I had assumed were a reflection of my own.

Until they moved.

Perhaps I was just tired, but my first thought was, “How come I didn’t just feel my legs move?” Then they moved again, and I was pretty sure my own legs had not. Convinced I was going mad, overcome with horror and fascination, I stared at the “reflected” legs until they moved yet again. Actually, they stood up and walked away. One would think this would be pretty definitive, but believe it or not, that was not what convinced me that the legs were not my own. It was because I finally noticed that they were wearing red socks, and I was pretty sure I was not wearing red socks because red really is not my color (I am more of an autumn).

Despite everything, I loved the haircut and, therefore, was not wearing a baseball cap with an Apple logo on it when I met MAK, which is fine because he was not wearing the promised boxer briefs. Well, he may well have been wearing boxer briefs under his regular pants, but we did not get to know each other that well.

It was odd, actually, because while we were meeting for the first time in person, we have been exchanging emails and reading each other’s weblogs for some time. We did not have to explain very much about our lives, and we picked up on each other’s references. It was a lovely evening with a new haircut and a new friend.

But especially the new haircut.

Oh, and one more thing: Apple.

Note: I will post my last column tomorrow. It is my favorite of those I wrote because I finally seem to be hitting my stride. This coming week, I think I will be writing about politics, so visit if you dare.