I can’t carry my tiny, sharp, little scissors in a carry-on bag. And I was desparate this mornning. Once I spotted the culinary scissors in the kitchen of our vacation rental, I made a plan.
We’ve been walking the streets of Lisbon, enjoying the ambiance, the food, the music, etc. It was time for a putz-about morning and a date with the scissors.
A bit of history. My hairstyle had its beginning at Nick Arrojo’s Studio in New York City. My friend and I had a great trip their a few years ago while I was a big fan of What Not to Wear. It was my dream to have my hair cut by him, but when I learned that it was $500 per cut, I settled for one of his stylists who had studied under him. And she was great. (I still have her card somewhere.)
Because of her cut, for the first time in my life my hair’s idiosyncracies grooved with current styles – allowing my cowlicks to live their lives freely. After trying repeatedly and unsuccesfully to have the cut replicated in my home town, I went back to my wicked and treasured habit of cutting my own hair. After all, I am available on short notice and I am very inexpensive.
I’m a happier person this afternoon because I have a haircut. I got a pretty good cut this time. (It doesn’t really matter because a bad one grows enough to work within a couple of days.)
*Remember the tune to “It’s a long way to Tipperary”?