Sometimes I Wander From My Intended Topic

This morning when I walked out my front door, there, right in front of my house, was the boy who does not think the idea of sheepdog championships is brilliant. He spoke in church one day, and a friend turned to me and said, "There's your spouse. Pursue him and report back to me next week." So, I dutifully chatted him up at a potluck dinner we were both attending. But after talking to him, I discovered that he used to be a Music Dance Theater major, which sent up a big red flag for me, AND he truly wasn't impressed by sheepdogs AND well, really, I think that's plenty to disdain. (He did get points for being from the Midwest and not mentioning the Dewey Decimal System when he discovered I have an MLS.)

The Sheepdog Hater's presence, practically on my doorstep, coincided with my re-entry into the world with normal hair and contacts. I haven't been able to wear contacts for about six weeks. I was worried it was because I had a mote (or possibly a beam) in my eye, but I just needed a different, softer kind of contact. And around the same time I stopped wearing contacts, I got a haircut at the beauty school that did not necessarily do good things for my appearance. Sometimes I get great haircuts there and sometimes not. Haircuts only cost $8.00 at the beauty school, though, and it's hard to do really bad things to my hair. (I also let people cut my hair with rusty Russian scissors and sometimes I chop it off myself, when I think it's looking like Florence Henderson's hair during her Brady Bunch years.)

Whenever I get my hair cut at the beauty school, an instructor comes over to check it and then s/he gushes about what a great haircut it is. The word sassy gets tossed around a lot when describing my haircuts. I don't actually WANT a sassy haircut, and I think the purpose of the gushing is to assure me that I like the haircut, even if I don't. I'm still going to go home and weep if I hate my hair. And I'll still return to the beauty school a couple of months later. Because, did I mention how the haircut costs $8.00 and they shampoo your hair, which makes me feel like a movie star and lulls me into forgetting that I'm going to have to deal with an 18-year-old hairdresser who wants to chat with me about the fact that the movie Titanic was based on a REAL STORY and will inevitably ask me if I'm married, which I don't think is a normal conversation starter? But my hair's finally grown out from the too-short haircut I got last time.

So I was looking pretty good this morning, is my point, but now I don't have time to finish this post today. We'll continue tomorrow. Maybe.

While you wait for part 2, go read my sister's new blog about the marmots. Hurray for a blogging sister!