Yup. That’s right. Normally upbeat, optimistic MoJo had a not-so-good day today.
On the heels of crying on my friend’s shoulder for no reason at all last week, only to realize I was actually coming down with something (I always get cranky before I get sick), and then having the chaos of a not-so-well-cleaned house and not being able to fully devote myself to writing coherently…
All these little irritants went by the wayside and today I was ready to face the world again! Hurray!
But the world, it seems, wasn’t quite ready for me.
After spending the better part of the morning glued to my telephone and laptop, I finally tracked down and took care of such business relating to correspondence courses, writing assignments, freelance opportunities, political issues, and home schtuff.
Dot and I spent far too long at the Super Target where I bought pumpkins and other necessary groceries, and she bought sweaters and socks (did I mention the wintery weather of late?
We came home to a high-pitched toilet. Almost dog-hearing pitched, but luckily, it was toned enough to greatly annoy our cats as well! Can I use the word lucky enough in this post?
Dot surprised me with a sweater she bought for me at Target. I’ve been looking for such a sweater for over a year now. She bought me a sweater and socks to keep me warm this winter! What a Doll!
I decided then it was finally time for that haircut I’ve been waiting on. I called my stylist only to discover she’s no longer working, and the salon didn’t have any other openings for today. So I drove over to the walk-in discount haircut place that I used to go to.
Never. Ever. Go to a walk-in discount haircut place. Never. Not unless you know them, and trust them. Never. Promise me.
As soon as we walked in, I had a sneaking suspicion I was making a bad decision. There was no welcoming other than “We’ll be right with you,” which turned into a fifteen minute wait. And no one offered style books for me to look at.
When I was called up, the stylist mumbled too much for me to understand her. She used her hand to sweep the chair, and tightened the dirty cape around my neck too tightly. That’s right: not only was it too tight, but it had someone else’s hair all over it. Gross, right?
I showed her photos on my cell phone of styles I was interested in. She didn’t seem to understand what “longer bangs and shorter in the back” meant. As she spritzed my hair with water and dragged the comb through, I winced and offered an “Oww!” I began to question why she parted my hair so drastically to the side, when she again mumbled, fumbled, and said, “I’ll just start in the back.”
When she opened her scissors, I opened my mouth.
“STOP!” I insisted. I apologized lightly and told her I wasn’t comfortable with her cutting my hair. It was awkward, it was uncomfortable. But I’d rather walk out with her being confused than me needing to pay for a second haircut to correct her mistakes.
So here I am at home. The recipes I’d planned aren’t done yet. The cookies aren’t baked. The desserts aren’t made. The budget isn’t balanced. The toilet isn’t quiet. And the writing isn’t written.
Instead, you get this post about Bad Hairs and Mondays… aren’t you lucky?
I do have this one ray of light: Tomorrow’s a new day. And I’m pretty sure the sun will come out… tomorrow.