Well, that WOULD explain it........

Needed to run some errands this morning, so I left home wearin'

my "Errand Running" clothes. (Note: Nike needs to market this idea.)

Pretty much what I wear everyday.

Cargo shorts, T shirt and a ball cap. Marianne calls it my "uniform".

 While out, I figured I wanted to get a haircut. The guys I usually go

to were closed. Vacation time. I like their place because it's an

old school hangout, with Sports Illustrated magazines goin'

back to 1997, and while they offer a shampoo, no one has

ever requested one.

I was hesitant at first about the notion of trying out a new place,

but I'd just read an article recently about not being a "neophobe",

someone who hates/fears trying new things.

It was a place especially for guys, with an all girl staff.

They offered me peanuts and coffee. I declined.

Didn't want the peanuts and really didn't want little tiny

gray hairs floatin' in my coffee, even if they were my own.

"Well, what can you do with this?", I asked, pointing to

my dome.

"Uh, shorten it???", came the reply.

Good strategy. I took a seat in the swivel chair.

When she was finished, she spun me around so I could see

her handiwork. This always cracks me up because, what am

I gonna say?  "Put some back!!!"

She did a fine job given that she didn't have much to work with.

Then. Came. The. Encore.

She pressed an electric massager into my shoulders and neck.

Heaven.

She draped a hot, damp cloth over my face.

She reclined my chair until my head descended into a sink.

I can't really say she gave me a shampoo, but washin' my

head was pretty fan-stinkin'-tastic.

When she was finished, she returned me to my full and upright

position.

And that was when I noticed it.  And I laughed out most loudly.

A big bottle of American Crew labeled "Style Remover"...

I'm sure Marianne thinks I fell into a vat of that stuff about

30 years ago.