Friday was a big day. It was a first in COVID quarantine era for me. It was the day I was finally getting a haircut.
The last time I had my hair cut was probably in early March. This is easily the longest stretch I’ve ever had between haircuts, and certainly the longest my hair has ever gotten in my life. I’m usually on a once every 6 to 8 weeks haircut schedule these days, so it was clearly time.
I skipped getting one for a long time due to COVID concerns, and then when salons started to open again, I continued to stick it out, both because I remained a little nervous, and also because I figure everyone is a little shaggy these days, so why not?
But my brother is getting married back in Wisconsin next week, and we are going to endeavor to make the trip back, so I figured it was time to get a little cleaned up. Erin and the kids got haircuts earlier this week, so it was probably my turn, too. Admittedly, things were looking a little grizzly.
But in these crazy days, even something as simple as a haircut got weird. I made the appointment a little over a week ago. I’ve been seeing the same hairstylist since I moved to Colorado. I found her from a reference from my hairstylist in Chicago, who I was loyal to for like 11 years. I’m admittedly a bit fussy about my hair, and when I find someone I like, I stick with it.
This probably goes back to a time when I lived in California and I thought I’d save a few bucks and go to a shabby looking local barbershop. I left looking like I’d stuck my head in a fan. It was kind of like a Johnny Unitas cut, but not as cool.
Anyway, I had my appointment set and I was looking forward to catching up with my hairstylist, and then I got a call a day before from the salon to let me know that she’d been in an accident and was going to be off for a few weeks. They got me rescheduled with someone else, and I figured I’d give it a go since anything was better than the wild mop I was currently sporting.
Turns out my stylist was on her bicycle in Denver and got hit by a drunk girl on one of those rental scooters. Fortunately she is going to be OK, but that totally sucks and I feel bad for her. Seems like nobody can catch a break this year.
But the guy who cut my hair did well and I was pretty happy about the end result. I’ve been struggling all through quarantine to drop a few pounds, and I might finally have done that just in the amount of hair I shed.
Even though it wasn’t my regular stylist, the backup did a great job and I am feeling pretty good about it. Apparently one of his clients is the guy who literally owns Larimer Square in Denver, so I guess I’m in good company, anyway.
Back at home, Amelia decided to take after her mom and pursue dog training. She and Henry spent a while “training” Asta, which basically amounted to putting her in her kennel, hiding treats and letting her find them.
They did well and had lots of fun doing it, and there was the added bonus to Asta of being able to eat a bunch of extra treats. Win-win situation, there.
