Close Encounters of the Scissored Kind
This morning I survived a close encounter with a pretty lady brandishing scissors. I had planned to go to the usual place where a disgruntled guy cuts my hair as fast as possible while complaining about whatever is on the radio, but they were late opening. In a remarkable display of no loyalty whatsoever, I immediately headed to the shop around the corner, and was greeted by one of our children's friend's Mums.
I'm never going back to the other place – mainly because have something to talk about (the kids), but also because she is both funnier and of course prettier than the oaf who normally cuts my hair.
While talking, I figured out she lives very close to us. I'm not entirely sure where, and thought it might be rude to just flat-out ask. I'm thinking we need to invite them over at some point.
p.s. take no notice of the photo – the hair had to survive a mountain bike helmet immediately after having some kind of sculpting muck rubbed into it