Yesterday I went to my usual salon and had my favorite stylist cut my hair. She wasn’t having a very good day because midway through the cut she snipped more than she bargained for. She cut her finger with her scissors. After she took a five minute break to bandage her finger and smoke a cigarette to help ease the pain she returned to finish the job. She made sure to caution me however that I should probably wash my hair when I got home because there were a few streaks of blood in it. I shudder to think of the sanitary implications of someone else’s blood in my hair. I did shower and wash my hair when I got home though. Not only because of the blood, but also because I get the creepy crawlies after a haircut and image little snips of hair all over my body. I scratch like a maniac on the way home from the salon each and every time. So that brought my number of showers to two yesterday since I always shower immediately upon crawling out of bed each morning. Yes, I was one clean bitch yesterday.
After my hair dried following my second shower I noticed that my hair was uneven and one side was shorter than the other. Not good. So back to the salon this morning. The one who did the deed yesterday was not there today. Probably had to call in sick to rest her injured finger I am thinking. I explain my problem to the stylist that was there and she was kind enough to fix my hair for me. But she cut my hair when it was dry so I had little snippies all over the back of my neck and down the back of my shirt. The horror! I sped home and jumped in the shower, a mere hour after I had my last shower. Four showers in the last twenty-six hours would definitely qualify me for the cleanest woman in Indiana if not the entire Midwest.
My mail carrier is afraid to knock on our door because of our dog. He thinks that because our dog weighs 70 pounds and barks when someone knocks on the door, he obviously is dangerous and looking for some mailman butt to bite. Our dog is the biggest whimp there is. He is even afraid of cats and rabbits. We tried telling this to our mailman but he refuses to believe us and always has his can of mace in hand and at the ready when ever he comes to the door to leave a package. We don’t have to worry about our mailman ever coming to the door again now that I have put our new welcome mat out. Once he sees that mat he will jump back in his little mail truck and squeal tires. Not good for our mail delivery but the entertainment value is priceless.