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
"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.
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
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.