[just shrunk my head - wish I could do that to my waist and hips with a few key strokes.]
I look like a shaggy dog -- shaggier than this picture and it was pretty shaggy. In fact, I think I'm beyond the shaggy dog stage and into the wild Shetland pony phase. I wish I could cut my own hair. But I learned way back in junior high that I couldn't even cut bangs straight, let alone tackle other part of the mane. There's two problems -- or really only one problem but it's compounded by the second which would be a non-problem except for the real problem. Confused? It's this way: I don't like having things done to me, i.e., I don't like sitting in a hair dressing salon and I've never had a salon manicure or pedicure in my life. The problem that shouldn't be a problem is that my hair grows fast. This wasn't bad back in the years when I wore it long but now that I'm acting my age and wearing it in a very easy short style it's a problem.
Every day this week I've promised myself I'd get a hair cut and every day I've found a more or less legitimate reason why I didn't have time. In fact where I work there is a salon on the lowest floor but I don't go there although the price is quite reasonable. The hairdresser is Igor, who does "unisex" but, in fact is a barber. He's also an egotist who is short, stocky, wears what he thinks is a fashioniable 36-hour shadow stubble -- and consequently looks like a member of the Russian mafia. Various things suggest that he's actually an okay human being but I got off-put when he posted a sign of his definitely unappealing mug with the misguided advertisment "Igor is here!" If he thinks that's attractive, what would he do to me? In fact on the occasions when our paths cross he is friendly and pleasant ... still ... it's wooly mammoth time for me.
Now on the subject of having things done to one I also am not a fan of massages -- except for the Turkish hammans [baths] - that's another story that I think this is not the time to tell -- those slippers shown a couple posts ago have me thinking about things I enjoyed about Turkey. I won't say the hamman was the most fun I've ever had with my clothes off, but it ranks pretty high. Believe me, it's not a dirty story -- it's possibly the cleanest I've ever been. But the massage -- oh, wow!
The mid-70s are a surprise! Part of me remains in the 50s -- age, I mean, not decade of 20th century. It's a joy ride, new experiences land in my lap and I've become a better quilter, poet, writer than I expected. It's a rich life for a person never rich financially. Hey, this is what the mid-70s are like!