The other day my wife went to her hairdresser. A regular occurrence. As, indeed, was our conversation:
[INTERIOR: house, morning]
She Who Must Be Obeyed: I’m off to the hairdresser.
Me [OS]: If it’s a longer bob-cut, can I call it a robert?
[SFX: loud groans and jeers]
Yup, the long winter evenings just FLY by in our household. Though from my perspective, the reason why women spend afternoons in the salon at hundreds of dollars per visit, complete with bleaches, dyes and styling, has always been a mystery. I usually try to relieve She Who Must Be Obeyed’s likely boredom while she’s there by sending helpful texts like “I double dog dare ya to get a mullet”.
I really can’t understand it. I mean, money’s actually earned to be spent on beer, stuff for the toolshed, and over-powered cars. I go to the barber on a necessity basis, and it takes four minutes. What’s more, my style hasn’t changed since I was eight, viz:
1970 – Ed Straker
1980 – Ed Straker
1990 – Ed Straker
2000 – Ed Straker
2010 – Ed Straker
I would say “2020 – Ed Straker”, but it’s likely to have all fallen out by then. You know…hair today, gone tomorrow… (groan).
Copyright © Matthew Wright 2014
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