I just had the most miserable haircutting experience. First of all, I hate getting my hair cut period. But when we lived in our former town, the same person, who also became my good friend, was the only person who cut, permed, even touched my hair. For a year after we moved, I arranged my schedule to be back in our old town about every 5-6 weeks to get a haircut. But in May the day before my last scheduled haircut with her, her son was injured in Iraq, and she has spent her time helping him heal.
Thus, my hair has looked like crap for seven months. But you see, I don't care a whole lot about my hair, so it hasn't really bothered me much. Until today.
She combed my ears. Hard. I told her to take an inch off the top and she must have thought I said leave an inch.
My new sons are going to meet Bart and I tomorrow and say, "You didn't tell us we were getting a same sex male couple for parents, Mrs. Social Worker."
And no, you can't see a picture. Don't even ask.
No comments:
Post a Comment