Yesterday I got my hair cut.  Since I usually I cut my own hair, it is a rare occurrance to have someone else do it.   Other people always screw it up, whether it is a cheap chain place or an expensive place.  I can screw it up, pay nobody, and have only myself to blame.   So I  just drink a beer and get down to business with a scissors and a mirror.  But I was getting my hair colored anyway (I am less afraid of using a scissors than toxic chemicals) and I figured, what the heck. 

 

She screwed it up (using that crazy thinner tool).  WTF!!  With my glasses sitting on the counter, I couldn’t see- after several snips I realized that it sounded WRONG.  I will cut it myself from now on as usual.

 

I had told Jack when I left to go get his hair cut too.  When I got back, he knows he is supposed to say “nice hair” or some Jack variant of that, but he never does.  He said, “Cut my hair.”  So I did, as usual.  Nothing has changed.  As usual.  It’s like Gilligan’s Island around here: I plot to get off the island, something screws it up, and it’s banana cream pie forever after.

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