The one where the lovely lady stole my hair
Today got off to a fantastic start. It transpires that if you don't help your 14 year old daughter sort her hair out at the exact moment she wants you to, the combined forces of Satan, Hell, Bruce Lee, and Chuck Norris will be launched at you (they roughly translate to stamping up the stairs screaming “I hate this family”, and “I'm glad you're not my real parents”). Who knew that waiting a minute to have her hair brushed would cause such an instant explosion? Minutes before she was happily eating breakfast with her sisters.
After making sure everybody else got away okwhich included running the length of the drive in my socks to deliver a lost t-shirt to my other half as she reversed in the carlong storyI made my way to work.
Only I didn't go straight to work this morning. I got my hair cut.
We have a number of places you can get your hair cut in town, and I don't really favour any of them beyond returning to the places I have been before, because I don't want to have to deal with learning somewhere new (and yes, I know there's not a lot to learn about walking in the door, sitting down, and then paying). It's not like I have a complicated haircut eitherit's pretty much the same sensible haircut that men have had since about 1900.
The lady that ended up cutting my hair was lovely. They always are. Well apart from the guy that sometimes cuts it if I go to the other place. We ended up talking about the nightmare of having kidsor rather she didand I listened as she regaled me with stories of arguments with her eldest daughter. It's nice to know that the nuclear teenage daughter thing is universal.
After leaving, getting back on the bike, and starting off down the road, I was approaching this guy with a beard. He looked over his shoulder for a gap in the traffic to cross the road, looked straight at me, and then stepped outstraight in front of me. I skidded all over the roadmissing him by inches. He knew what he was doing. Why on earth would you do that? I was too surprised to even swear at himand of course thought up all sorts of words to shout as I carried on my journey.
Anyway. It's Friday. Nearly the weekend. A weekend filled with football, rugby, christmas shopping, washing up, washing clothes, tidying the house up, and pretty much no down time at all