Of Hair and Change
My high school friend Sheila had a dachshund named Hildegarde who loved, loved! riding in the car. She (Hildy, not Sheila) also had a sixth sense when it came to the destination. You could cajole and encourage, but if the destination was the veterinarian’s, there was nothing that could get her into that vehicle other than a firm football grip of her under your arm.
My hair is like that. It always knows if I have a hair appointment that day.
Just like the mysterious noise in your engine that won’t ping at the garage, my hair is photo-perfect the morning of a haircut, always causing me to pause for a reassessment in front of the mirror: Maybe I can go another week?
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Ever notice how tricky change can be? One change can trigger a series of events as surely as a snowball picks up small children on its way down the hill.
I canceled book club at my house a couple of weeks ago when I wasn’t sure if the ceiling guys would be done in time. On the next date I had scheduled, two of our small group suddenly couldn’t make it. I rescheduled yet again and our area was hit by a succession of traffic-crippling snowstorms. Somehow I finally sandwiched it in between a broken refrigerator and its repair.
(“Oh – ice cubes? Let me just run down to the basement for a moment.”)
Think first before you jump to that deceptively shorter line at the grocery store. You make the switch and truly commit by filling the new conveyer with everything in your cart. Then the person ahead of you who is about to whip out her wallet instead pulls out a boat-load of outdated coupons and needs a price check on two of her items. You look over to see the line you abandoned empty in record time.