…and other serious stuff found on Facebook.
…and other serious stuff found on Facebook.
The garbage bins and the paper and the recycling were at the curb when I turned in to my driveway after work on Wednesday night. The inside front door and the garage door were both wide open. The barbecue was on. The sat-radio was blaring away. There was a half-naked man in my kitchen.
Well, that sure beats coming home to a quiet empty house.
Yes, W is home for a while. He drove through four provinces in two days to get here because there’s too much damned rain in Ontario. Also, he thinks he needs to be here with me to face the scary appointments and doctors at the University hospital. This works for me. Plus he shops for groceries and he cooks and he cleans up the dishes. He pours my wine.
Speaking of wine, this one from B.C. is devilishly good, just like the label says. Or my taste buds have fermented and gone to hell. It’s a toss-up really. All I know for sure is that I’m not telling you how much of it I consumed in the three hours between getting home and going to bed.
Today I went and got a seasonal haircut. By that I mean there’s no guessing now about the size of my ears. The weather is lovely and hot and I’ve got a couple of fans going for the first time this summer. I will NOT be complaining about the heat. Somebody slap me if I do.
Our grass is green, our trees are tall. Two squirrels, a jack rabbit and a duck dropped by for our barbecue. The magpies have decided our backyard is a good place for their afternoon squabbles. And we just might get a deliciously diabolical thunderstorm tonight.
So yeah. Life is good.
No, I’m just kidding about crying time. Today was hair cut time again. No amount of crying is acceptable. It’s only hair. At least I still have some.
Although I have had haircuts in the past that shocked me to the verge of tears, today was not one of those days. I think it helps to wait until your hair is such an incredible mess from hell that anything they do to it cannot help but make an improvement. My hair had reached that point and gone a tad beyond.
Most of the time, good hairdressers I stumble upon decide after two or three visits from me to go and work somewhere else, give up the craft altogether, or move out of province or halfway across the world. Or simply far enough away that I am unlikely to ever find them again. Today the original stylist I was booked with had a death in the family and didn’t come to work. To me this sounded infinitely better than having died herself. So someone else had to volunteer to fit me in.
I was lucky enough to get the lady who had to rush off to a physiotherapy session in roughly half an hour. Miss Flying Scissors. She sat me down and told me she was going to put the FUN back into my hair. I had no idea until that moment that it was missing. Or possible to have in the first place.
Fastest hair cut and style of my life. My least favourite part where a hairdresser spritzes and sprays and texturizes and generally fusses forever was pretty much skipped. I was home in record time and able to enjoy the rest of my afternoon off. This included a two-hour nap and some serious bed head that’s a little scary.
Just for fun, and to compliment the fun that’s back in my hair, I googled names of hair salons. Here’s some of my favourites.
1. Curl Up and Dye
2. I’ll Cut You
3. The Hair Port
4. The Best Little Hair House
6. Anita Haircut
7. Great Head Hair Salon
8. British Hairways
9. The Last Strand
10. Grateful Head
I might go to any of those, but not the Ass Hair Salon or Hair Potato. I don’t think my hair could handle THAT much fun.
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