Today's fun thing.

I am no longer dying of sick, so I am going to tell you a story about my Tuesday.

In recent years I have been less than thrilled with my haircuts, so I decided to try out a new stylist based on the recommendation of several friends.

She happened to answer the phone when I called the salon, so it was way too easy to explain that "my hair is so long I struggle not to mistake it for toilet paper.  IT HAS TO GO."

She luckily had a cancellation and if I could get there within 10 minutes it was on.   I could so I did.

We chatted a bit while she washed and conditioned and brushed my hair.

When she sat me in her chair and asked hesitantly at best "please put your index finger on the side of your arm at the point you would like your length to be", I had no choice but to poke her in the eye. 

Okay, that's not true.  I poked myself in the eye and pointed randomly at my upper shoulder with the words "cut to there".

That's when she started crying and offering me gummy bears, saying something about long haired people always freak out and no way blahblahblah.

I calmly assured her I was cutting it to weave a love basket for Matty McConaughey, and because that is probably the best reason ever to alter your hair she was all like "SWEET! You can cut mine next!"

I covered my eyes before the stroke of the scissors and that must have made her nervous again because she whipped her hand around holding my now unattached locks and dangled them in my face fearfully asking "Is that too much!?"

Tears pooled in my eyes as I held the length of beauty that was once mine.  In turn her eyes grew as big as saucers~ confused, apologetic, guilty ~ and I realized maybe I was taking this acting thing a little too far so I winked and threw a few gummy bears at her.

That's when realization hit her.  She called me a bitch! and a new friendship was born.

~~

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