“Answer the door,” I told my husband. “Why don’t you get it since you’re standing right next to it?” he replied. “Because I’m having a really bad hair day.”  “But you just got it cut.” Why do you insist on telling me things I know already?” “Well, it’s sad you pay her good money to give you a bad haircut.” “I didn’t pay her good money to give me a bad haircut. I wanted a good haircut, but it turned out bad.” “And because you don’t like your hair you’re going to hide inside all day and not open the door to anyone.” “I didn’t say ‘anyone,’ I can’t open the door to friends, but I will open the door to strangers.” “Explain.” “Friends know how my hair should look. Strangers don’t know how my hair looks normally and may think it’s attractive.” “I seriously doubt that.” “Oh, shut up and open the door.” I spent the day wishing for time to speed by so my hair could grow back.

It was a day I wished I had a wig. Having a wig means never having to be sorry about a bad haircut; one day you could be a redhead and the next a blond or brunette. Having a wig would cut down on the high cost of hair maintenance. But since I don’t own a wig I wear a hat. Wearing a hat in the winter makes sense. Wearing a hat in August doesn’t make sense. You have to walk around hatless, with a bad cut, for the entire world to see.

I love it when people ask, “Oh, did you mean to get it cut like that?” One time my brother-in-law and I drove past a hair salon called ‘Cartoons,’ and he quipped, “ Now who would get their haircut at a place called ‘Cartoons?’ when I answered, “I go there,” I realized I may not have wanted my hair cut badly, but I deserved what I got.

The only cartoon character hairdo I ever liked was Pebble Flintstones, from ‘The Flintstones.’ Come to think of it, her hair looked better than my last cut. I think when cartoon characters start looking better than me, it may be time for me to think about getting a wig.

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