Keeping It Local


Right, that’s the hubby back to work today, and the daughter off the computer, so I can have some quality time on here again. Not that he isn’t entitled to have little holidays during the winter, and she was doing rather important, business-related stuff on here. But you know how it is. 😉

I can’t write when I have someone breathing down my neck or talking to me constantly. Which Daughter finds a tad strange, but it’s one of those “older generation” things. I grew up in a time of learning in a silent classroom, so my brain needs quiet to function. Her classroom, on the other hand, was never quiet, and I always wondered how anyone got a lick of work done in that kind of chaos. I commented on that fact to teachers now and then, who looked at me like I had just stepped out of a cave, complete with protruding brow and unusually long arms. “That was then, and this is now, blah blah blah.” If you say so.

I just got in from a stroll around the neighbourhood. We have a lot of businesses nearby and I try to give them my custom as much as possible, rather than heading to the malls or big chains. My first stop was an insurance office, to renew my driver’s license. It’s a new system this year, with car insurance and driver’s license now falling under the same umbrella, rather than being renewed at different offices, at different times. We’re also getting a new type of license to carry around, which is supposed to be more in line with what other provinces do. Actually, it’s a sneaky way of getting us to carry a standard i.d. card, period, as in the kind that everyone would squawk about, but I’ll pretend that I haven’t figured out their little scheme. The old system had us renewing our driver’s license by the end of our birth month, and car insurance four months later. Why four months later? Beats me, and I don’t bother questioning these things anymore. But now license and insurance renewals will be done together, so it was just a partial renewal today, to take me through to May when I renew the car insurance.

So, I toddled off to the insurance office this morning, expecting to have a new mug shot taken for the new photo i.d. card. Okay, not a mug shot, technically, but hands up anyone whose license photo doesn’t look like a police mug shot. Exactly. It’s hardly worth making an effort for such a photo, but I did anyway, thinking that it might give me a slight chance of getting a decent one. Not that I ever look at the thing once it’s deposited in my wallet, but I might if it were worth looking at. Thus it was something of a disappointment when they said that they’d wait until the proper renewal in May to do my photo. Hmph, just because I was psyched up for the ordeal, you know. It has taken me all month to get in the right frame of mind, so how dare they not do it today?! I could start muttering about conspiracy theories here, but I won’t. 😉

I had to pass a hair salon on the way home, so stopped in to see what they’re all about and if they take walk ins. My usual local salon did, and I finally had a stylist there with whom I felt really comfortable. I’ve never liked having my head mauled, and she’s the type who does a quick, decent cut, with minimal fuss and bother. But they closed at the end of December, so that’s that. I need somewhere within really easy walking distance and which takes walk ins because of the unpredicability of my energy levels, so the logical choice is the other local place. It has been six weeks since my last cut, which is unusually long for me, so I thought I’d get the mop tidied up, if possible, since I was out and about anyway.

Nice thought, but I came home without a cut. The place was dead and the stylist on duty could have easily done the job then and there. But she refused. I’ve never, ever had that happen before, so it was a bit of a shock. And why wouldn’t she cut it? Because she said it’s already too short. Eh? As she gave my head a good pawing (which set my teeth on edge ever so nicely), she scolded me in a thick Russian accent. “Pah, you girls ruin your looks with dese silly short cuts. Your hair, eets so t’ick wid beautiful curl, why you want eet all cut off like a man? Pah, silly girl. No, no, no, I not cut eet today. You come see me in a mont’, and I shape eet into new pretty style. God has given you gift, silly girl, and you must not t’row eet away anymore. What your husband t’ink of dis silly stuff? Don’t you want your man to be heppy? Man want a wife wit’ beautiful, luxurious hair, not looking like a boy. Now go and I see you next mont’.”

Oh.

Something tells me that she won’t see me next month, but I’ll give her expert opinion some consideration. Until tomorrow, maybe, when I wake up, glare at the unruly mop in the mirror and have to resist the urge to take scissors to it myself. Pah indeed.

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