Once more into the breach

I'm heading out in a moment to get my hair cut. Despite the fact that I have just 20, count 'em, 20 dollars in my checking account. Because my hair looks terrible. I look, and I hate to say this, a little frumpy.

In keeping with tradition, I am going to a different salon than the one I went to the last time I got my hair cut, which was different from the one I went to before that hair cut, and so on. Never (well almost never) the same place twice. It's the TJ Maxx approach to beauty.

The real reason I don't go back is that I have yet to like a single one of my hairdressers, save my cousin S, who's in NH and therefore unavailable, and this sweet Jheri-curled Caucasian queen-ish fellow who told everyone in a salon near Peterborough NH how pretty I was. Usually my experience is one of awkwardness. I never know what to say to the hairdressers, or they do a crap job on the cut and then I really don't know what to say to them, or they make a snide comment about the fact that I dye my own hair.

Anyhoo. Here's hoping I look better at 6 pm than I did at 5.