The Hairdresser & Me

I am supposed to be writing – that’s what a writing class is all about after all. I was going to take up a dark topic – demons and all that – but then I read DrmDragon’s latest entry and felt compelled to share my latest hairdresser episode. It’s ever so much easier than all the deep soul searching stuff. Besides, I am a little afraid to let that stuff out.

It was Friday and I had a hair appointment. Color and cut. There was an interview next week and I somehow thought that a new “do” was just the thing for the interview. (Yes, I know that’s delusional, but we’re not addressing my various delusions here.) I was running late. Funny how a woman with nothing but time on her hands can be late. There’s a valid reason – really there is – but that also could fill an entire entry.

I call.

“Scooby? I’m running late – but I’ll be there, OK?” (all the while I am remembering the vast number of times he has kept me waiting 20 minutes or more….)

“Sure, hon.”

I rush in, breathless, nearly 30 minutes late. I figure Scooby will be foaming at the mouth and ready to give me a well deserved lecture on punctuality and the value of his time. I am already set to reschedule. What do I find? Scooby on the phone trying to schedule a DUI course. Seems he had a little drinking/driving run-in with the police. Whew. At least that was taking his mind off my tardiness! I commiserate and we proceed to the business at hand.

I get the usual admonitions regarding the un-healthiness of being totally low-maintenance. He gets the usual reminder that if he styles it in a manner which takes more than 5 minutes of my time, his work will all be in vain – I quit fussing with my hair at the 5 minute mark. We talk about the usual stuff – dogs, family, interior decorating…. all over a bottle of water because it is just too early in the day for our usual glass of wine.

That night I’m sitting at home pondering the new cut. It’s short. Way short for me. But Scooby likes it better short – and he’s the one with the scissors! You know – I’m sure I should wield some power by virtue of being the one PAYING for the “do”…. but it doesn’t always work out that way with Scooby.

The phone rings.

“Hello”

“May I speak to SW please”

“Speaking”

“What’s up, bi-atch!?!”

“WHO is this?”

“It’s me, Scooby. Your hairdresser. You didn’t recognize me! I’m so hurt!”

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t expecting you!”

“I was going through my book and called you.’

“So I see. How much have you had to drink?”

” Enough. When are you going to invite me over to your house?”

“I already have. I told you to come by any time – after work some evening”.

“No, I want an official invitation. For a Sunday.”

“OK. I’ll call you back, when you can remember who you’re talking to, and invite you over.”

“I can remember! I’m not that bad! I have a planner to write things in anyway”

“OK. I want you to help me decorate my bedroom.”

“I know. You straight people have no taste.”

“OK, Scooby. Let me see how my weekends stack up and then I’ll invite you over. I’ll call you.”

“Make sure, OK?”

“OK”

“I love you, sweetie.”

“I love you, too, Scooby.”

I hang up and sit there staring at the phone in my hand. What the heck was THAT?!! Then I start to laugh. Yes, I love my hairdresser. He is truly amazing.