Picky, Picky

I told her I wasn’t picky. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that isn’t true.

On a whim, I walked into the hair salon next to where I work out in the morning. I love the girl who has been cutting my hair in her home for a few years. She is a sweetheart and gives a good haircut at a reasonable price. I wasn’t really shopping for a new stylist, but when I couldn’t reach her the last time I needed her (for a couple of weeks), I panicked and started looking around, “just in case”. She did finally return my calls, and cut my hair. But the seed was planted: I need a backup.

So back to picky. I told the girl at the desk I wanted to schedule a haircut with someone who can cut thin hair and make it look good. I have cowlicks, too. I told her I wasn't picky. Jana will cut my hair this afternoon and we’ll see.

When I left the salon, I realized I really am picky. Yes, I want a good haircut, but I really want more than that. I want new hair…thicker, that’s more brown than gray that doesn’t have to be “touched up” from a bottle. I’ll keep the gray streak in front, it’s kinda cool, and I earned those little badges of courage one at time. I want a new face. You can leave the smile wrinkles, but I’d really appreciate your erasing the frown wrinkles. I want a new body, too. Younger, thinner, the way it was about 40 years ago. I’ll keep my stretch marks from pregnancy -- they are reminder of the wonder of new life. I’m willing to work for the thinner part. I know there are no free lunches (oops, the food reference just slipped in there).

So Jana, we’ll start with the new hair style today, but let’s be thinking about the rest, ok?