I got my haircut this afternoon. And while my “stylist” did a very good job, I never understood a single word she said. I was never very sure she even knew how I wanted my haircut, which prevented me from dozing off like I tend to do during my trip to the barber. I was too scared I’d wake up with damaged hair. Good thing there is a shampoo for that.
I sat and watched two older women get their white hair cut and styled. These two octogenerians sat almost perfectly still, eyes half shut and never said a word. Which got me to worrying that they were dead. That got me to thinking – after a full life – surviving the Depression, world wars, maybe even a Civil War – wouldn’t it just absolutely suck to have your final obituary say you past away sitting in a chair at Fantastic Sam’s?
