We’ve been together for so long, but I just don’t think I have the energy to do what’s necessary to maintain this relationship any longer. I’m losing more of myself than I’m getting back.
Oh, don’t panic. Bill and I are doing fine. He can’t get rid of me, no matter how hard he tries. No, I’m talking about the relationship with my hair stylist.
It’s true, isn’t it ladies, that breaking up with your hair stylist is as bad – if not worse – than breaking up with a boyfriend. Let’s face it. Your hair stylist probably knows as much about you as anyone in whom you confide. Because, you see, your hair stylist actually listens. Their tip depends on it.
My hair stylist moved from one salon to another about a year ago. She had been in a salon that was literally walking distance from my house. The salon to which she moved is in an oh-so-hip part of Denver, the area northwest of downtown Denver called the Highlands. (It used to be referred to as the North Side until it became oh-so-hip. Now the only people who call it the North Side are lifelong North Siders fighting tooth and nail to maintain their North Side culture. Give it up people. You will lose. Gentrification wins every time. )
I vowed to myself that I wouldn’t drive that far to get a haircut. Have you seen my hair? How hard can it be, right? The answer, I’m afraid, it is harder than it looks. Or at least it is hard enough that it doesn’t satisfy me.
I tried. I went to four or five different stylists who simply couldn’t cut my hair the way I want it cut. Lilly uses a razor. Every time I would go to a new stylist, I would tell them about Lilly. “Lilly uses a razor,” I would say. They would look at me like I had grown another nose, and get out their scissors. They didn’t care a whit what Lilly uses.
So I have continued to schlep 25 or 30 miles to Lilly’s new salon. Until yesterday, when traffic made it suddenly so clear that I must find a stylist nearer to my house. Razor or no razor.
Therefore, I’m on a campaign – a serious campaign – to find a new stylist with whom I am satisfied. I will prevail!
But in the meantime, I took advantage of being on the North Side (if Cesar Chavez could fight for the little people, I can do the same and fight for the North Siders, who host a park in honor of Cesar Chavez) to have lunch at an Italian restaurant five blocks from the salon. Bill went with me to my appointment (well, actually he went to the Starbucks and had coffee and a blueberry muffin), and then the two of us walked the five blocks to Parisi’s Italian Market and Deli. If you have read my blog faithfully, you know that I am on a mission to find a sandwich as good as the one I get at Guido’s Italian Market in Scottsdale.
Ta da! I may have succeeded. I had a sandwich that was simply delicious. The bread was chewy and tasty. The meats were fresh, and the sandwich was suitably drippy (though I have to be honest and tell you that I added olive oil myself, thereby aiding in said drippiness).
As for Bill, he enjoyed a prosciutto and cheese with arugula on flatbread that turned out to be big enough to feed an entire Cesar Chavez rally…………
Maybe I’m being too hasty in making my decision to break up with Lilly. She uses a razor, after all, and there’s that sandwich…….
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