Noo Doo

I got a haircut a couple of days ago. It's always quite short but, what with dead cars, temperatures near absolute zero, the 'flu, you know all that extraneous stuff, it was about 3 inches long by the time I managed to call for help.

Brenda, who is a doll and has been hacking at my locks since she first had her license, does a great job, even though she regularly accuses me of not being able to sit still. She washes the mop, performs the obligatory eyebrow wax and then we proceed to snipping, clipping and razoring.

Brenda is very family-oriented and has pictures of her parents, in multiples, on shelves around her work station. I mentioned that I really liked that particular cut her Mom had, the one in that picture up there. "Her hair is longer than yours, but we'll see." OK, cool. That is one really snazzy cut your Maman has and I want one like it. All sort of spiky and very cool.

We proceed. After considerable snipping, the razor was put to work. That means we're almost done so I can quit wiggling and go to the bathroom. The necessary blowdrying, spraying, gelling and all finished, I replace my glasses.

Good God Almighty, what is that on my head!? I glanced up at the photographs and, sure enough, instead of the Very Cool Spiky Do, I had the Very Uncool Smooth Helmet Do.

Evidently, there was a major communication problem.

Oh, well, that's fine. It'll grow out. Eventually. Meanwhile, I scare myself every time I walk past a mirror. It's not that I hate this style, mind you, just looks way too much like something Maribelle Morgan would wear on a shopping trip for more Saran Wrap. I'm more like the Bride of Frankenstein on amphetamines.

I duly arrived home after a fairly long drive. It was necessary to ignore the urge to pull my head down into the collar of my coat like a turtle so, on the off chance I might see someone I know, they wouldn't notice my lovely smooth hair.

Himself, who normally pays no attention to anything of the sort and wouldn't notice if I grew a moustache and shaved my head, says, "I like that. It's not all spiky and all."

Good thing he was sick with the flu or I'd have had to kill him.