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My haircut girl, Linda, is on vacation this week. I hope she’s having a nice time, but, honestly, she’s messed things up for me greatly. It takes someone like me (i.e., a slightly neurotic and self-conscious person with very stubborn hair) a long long time to find the right person to work with her hair. Linda is very soothing. She is far more beautiful than I thought I’d ever tolerate in a haircut girl – thin, exotic, great hair. She has a German Shepherd, which her husband and son like, but she wants a cat. She is the only person I know who’s gone off and gotten married using one of those marriage packages. “Bahamas Cruise and Wedding Package”. She loved it. I like Linda. I’m comfortable with her, and she does my hair the way I like it. (People probably think I chop at it randomly myself to get this tousled effect, but no, I pay a lot of money to have someone else do it for me.)

But Linda decided to go away this week. She recommends Trish for her clients. Okay, I can deal with Trish. I don’t know her very well, but I can deal with her. No cause for panic. Until Trish foolishly decides to get sick this week!

Now I’m not even sure I can get a haircut at all. No, no, says the receptionist, Sharon is available today. Can you come in at 3:30?

Sharon. I have nothing against Sharon, of course. In fact, she was one of the hairdressers I used when I first went to the salon when I was deciding which hairdresser suited me. (I’m sure she doesn’t remember this, but I feel slightly awkward about her now, as though I rejected her.) But I have to get a haircut before going out of town. So Sharon it is.

We talk about the end of the school year and, of course, Reagan. She’s very moved by all the coverage of the memorial services. She finds the people who show up in shorts and sandals very disrespectful. A lot of the men aren’t taking off their hats, either. We decide that they don’t mean as much disrespect as it may seem.

Then she starts talking about her dad’s funeral. She says she understands a lot of what Nancy is going through – how it is out of her hands. It is the nation’s grief, not Nancy’s. That’s how it was for her dad’s funeral. She and her mom just went along with the plans. She talks about the military doing things a specific way. Two things are clear in her story: her dad was someone important and she wants me to ask who he was.

I feel terrible about this. I didn’t ask. Three or four times she left pauses, places for me to ask for information, for details. Space for me to say “wow”. I just went along with the conversation, almost as if I already knew. Would it have killed me to just give her this? Yes, it was a slightly manipulative conversational tactic on her part, but I could have let her have a few minutes of attention. I could have let her brag a little bit about her father. I should have.

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