It was supposed to be a leisurely Sunday.

Planned to make a pot roast and let it cook all day.

Not sure what made me look in the mirror, but when I did, I realized that I looked like a shaggy dog.

Time for a haircut.

No problem. Who gets their hair cut on Sunday?

Let’s see: they open at noon.  Ok. I should be gone about an hour.

Gee.  Only 2 people in the salon.  Great!

Uhm…. we are booked, all day.  But.. .if you want to wait a few hours, maybe I can get you in.

No thanks.

Drove another 25 miles to an obscure hair salon.  Piece of cake.  Right?

4 really old ladies in front of me.

One walking with a cane.

One getting her grey hair dyed red.

All 4 very slow moving, and talkative as hell.

Suddenly there were 9 of us waiting.

There we were, all 9 of us, staring at the old ladies.

Do you want me to curl your hair?

Of course.

Would you like it cut any shorter?’


Would you like any product?

What do you have on sale?

3 hours later.

Wolf?  Follow me.  You are next.

It took no more than 15 minutes to get my hair washed, cut and dried.

I took off like a wild banshee.  Where is the nearest bar?

I had a 2 glasses of wine.  The time flew by.  Another hour and a half.

Geez, it is raining, and it is getting dark.

What is it about time that seemingly stands still in the same day it flies by?

I made an appointment with the bar manager.

I have a suggestion.

Want to get more business?

Open a hair salon.

And when you do, I don’t care how long I have to wait.




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