Erik Estrada vs. Corey Hart

Back in Calgary, I get my hair cut by my Special Lady Friend.  Jen will be coming for a visit in February, but I couldn't wait any longer to get a trim.  My neck hair was threatening to start its own comb-over, and the sides were starting to feather themselves.  Whenever I try something new down here, I check my phrasebook or use Google Translate first, and try to memorize what I'll need to say.  As soon as I start talking to someone with the phrases I've memorized, they don't understand what I've said, and I usually return the compliment.  There were four entries under hairdressing in the phrasebook:
"I'd like a haircut."
"Don't cut it too short."
"Shave it all off."
"I should never have let you near me!"
I hoped that I wouldn't need to use the last one.

As is my custom, after the first phrase I totally blanked out and reverted to wild pantomime.  My Spanish may be coming along slowly, but my charades skills are getting good enough for me to turn pro.  The barber seemed to understand what I had asked for, and sure enough, he cut my hair almost exactly how I wanted.  Then, he kept cutting for twenty more minutes.  It's not TOO bad, just short and spiky.  Except for my neck hair, that's still long enough to braid.