I’ve been told, more times than I can count, that I am (in the words of Lynyrd Skynyrd) a simple man. I’ve also been warned about certain women who believe the following equation to be true: A Simple Man = A Schmuck. Whether I fit the mold, or break it, remains to be seen. What I do know is that when I arrived for my haircut, requesting a specific hair stylist, not because I’m some metro-sexual trying to reintegrate into the singles market, not because I thought she’d do my do right—in fact, when I left, my head resembled the shoddy workmanship of a slapped together quilt (something I had expected)—no, when I arrived, when I wrote her name down on the sign-in sheet, there seemed to be a bit of apprehension on her part, as if she wanted to forgo the next customer, the only customer on said list.
She acknowledged me. “How have you been?”
“Why don’t you tell me,” I responded.
“You shouldn’t lose anymore weight,” she said, trying to be friendly, trying to show concern.
“Why not?” I snapped back. I sat in the barber chair. “I’m losing everything else. What’s a few more pounds?”
I knew she was uncomfortable. She didn’t take that extra time to prep her area; instead, she draped my skin-and-bone frame and started snipping my hair without asking how short.
“As you can see,” I said, extending my left hand for her viewing pleasure, “I’m no longer wearing my wedding ring.”
After a few more snips, she told me what I had already known. She said, “I’m the one who recommended your wife’s lawyer.” She raked the comb through my hair and continued. “You were blindsided, weren’t you?”
“You’re damn right I was.”
More nervous energy on her part. “I always thought you had a good marriage, that you supported your family.”
I didn’t react. She started to pry. Did I get a lawyer? Where am I living?
I told her about the 911 calls, the police escorts. She acted surprised. She’s a horrible actress. She continued prying. I wasn’t about to make her the conduit to my wife.
I got what I needed—a cheap ass haircut and verification. Now I’ll be calling her ex-husband to see what type of ass-kicking he got from this highly recommended lawyer. It shouldn’t really matter; the whole divorce process is scripted, conveniently choreographed to drain money from the marital accounts. If only someone would play fair we could cut our losses—including each other.
2 comments:
This reminds me of a story in my life: I was going for a haircut the day before my wedding. I told this to the haircuttin lady, "I'm getting married tomorrow." The haircuttin lady asked me what the plan was for the wedding - what was it to be like...where was it going to be held...how many people would be there...I'm pretty sure she even asked me how much I was spending or she practically did...and at the end she just sniffed. She did not approve. I did not have the balls to NOT TIP her at the end.
JR-GET A NEW STYLIST!! It is totally unprofessional of her to talk about anything but the most benign topics-no matter what! And another thing, Dear, no matter how much weight you lose, you cannot make yourself vanish; and we don't want you to.
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