Now Playing -
Met game.
Now Eating -
nothing.
Now Feeling -
scratchy.
Now Tweeting
- Melanie
It would be nice sometime, when my hands are dirty from housework (Stop laughing. I mean it.) or cooking (I can hear you!) to be able to approach the kitchen sink and simply grab the bottle of dishwashing detergent and squeeze some onto my hands, without having to flip the damned cap open every single time! Even after I've left it open previously, sometimes only mere minutes earlier. But I know, the dreaded "Rapid Evaporation of Concentrated Household Cleaning Products" has been well documented over the years by many a respected scientist. Hasn't it? Hasn't it, people?
Ah, the joys of cohabitation.
Last Wednesday, I went for a haircut. Jill, my favorite SuperCutter and the manager of the store, wasn't there. Laura, who did a fine job on my hair last time, was busy. So I got Chris. A bad shampoo did nothing to inspire confidence. And when he actually started to cut my hair... let's just say I wouldn't have trusted this boy with child's safety scissors. It wasn't even a matter of a stylist doing something blatantly wrong. It was just...oogy. His technique seemed to consist of "Pull up a section of hair, cut a bit off." Snip-snip, lather, rinse, repeat. He had a devil of a time combing more hair into an existing section � he usually just dropped the whole thing and started afresh. He spent the first ten minutes on a section of hair on the left side of my head, but left the front of that section the same length as it was pre-cut. And the other side was shorter! If I wanted asymmetrical, I'd talk to Vidal Sassoon!
He dropped the comb. At least he didn't pick it up off the floor and start using it again, but still. You're using sharp, pointy objects around my head and face, and you can't keep ahold of a plastic comb that's bigger than my forearm?
I got home, and I honestly had no idea as to whether the haircut was of any measurable quality. Yeah, there's that thing about how "a good haircut shouldn't even look like it's been cut," but I just couldn't tell, good, bad or indifferent. I blew it dry, and it just felt weird. I had the Loch Ness Monster, the Jersey Devil, the Sasquatch of haircuts.
The next day, I high-tailed it to SuperCuts on my lunch hour. Jill was standing in the window, putting some products into a display. Chris, of course, was sitting at his station with nary a customer in sight. I sidled ever-so-subtly (if a visibly disturbed woman with a bad "haircut" can be subtle) up to her and whispered, "I need to talk to you!" "Okay...." "About him!" ::pointing Chris's way like a high schooler with a crush...except, you know, not::
We nonchalantly strolled (if a person who is trying to avoid the man who "cut" her hair less than 24 hours ago in a now-empty shop can be nonchalant) out the back door, where I 'splain Loocy'd it all to her.
"He cut my hair, and it�s just...wrong!"
She felt through my hair. "Well, the layers seem to be okay. . . ."
"But this (indicating) is the same length it was before the cut!"
"Yeah, we'll have to fix that. He's just sort of artistic. He's not me."
"I know!"
"I should train him to cut hair the same way I do."
Long story short (ba-dum-bum), she fixed me up the next day, out of eyeshot (which, if it isn't a word, should be � I mean, we have earshot, why not eyeshot?) of Chris the Artistic. Is it shallow to have one's mood be so dependent on the cut of one's hair? Then call me shallow.
A few weeks ago, I scheduled the replacement for last year�s aborted trip to Maine for the first weekend of October. Huz and I were talking the other night, and we realized that we might not be able to get down to Florida to see his mother until next year. Which, in the lives of people who love the Alzheimer's-riddled (and the occasional Johnny Mathis fan), is a Long, Long Time. We had though about going to Orlando in November with the Best Man and Wife and Twins, and then driving cross-state to see the in-laws while we were there. But it turns out that Huz is playing for Carol Lawrence at Westbury Music Fair smack-dab in the middle of the week they're down there. We�d spend more time traveling than visiting with anyone. So we thought maybe Huz could go down for a short visit, but what fun would it be without me?? He can't go Mondays or Tuesdays, since they're his school teaching days. So I page through the Filofax, and what to my wondering eyes should appear? Columbus Day weekend, handily bundled in with the last of my big Jewish holiday vacation days. Just one week after we go to Maine. We booked the trip last night. We'll be staying here. It feels decadent going on two trips two weeks in a row, but I'm using only two of my vacation days. And we'll be getting to spend "two of us" time in addition to "family time." Two birds with one bigass stone, as it were.
This entry has been brought to you by the word "haircut" and the number "2."
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