Yesterday, the “Rancherette” and the “Rancherwriterpoet” went to get their monthly hairdo. The 2nd Tuesday of every month we make this trip. She goes to the hair stylist, while I go to the barber. Please understand, the same person who does the actual work on each of us is one and the same. Angie has been cutting my hair for over five years and the “Rancherette’s” for much longer.
While the “Rancherette” gets her hair fixed, mine only gets cut. It is a scheduled part of our routine. Since I get mine cut first, we go in separate vehicles, because I do not want to wait for two hours when she sits in the chair. They have no TV in the waiting room and even if they did, it would probably be tuned to the “View” or WE network or, even worse, Oprah. Not that I have anything against Oprah, but I would rather watch ESPN and you know I am not about to change any channels in a beauty shop. But, like I said they do not have a TV.
The only magazines on the table are those that are more directed towards the female gender. I think they share magazines with my doctor. People Magazine, Cosmopolitan, Vogue, you know the type. I do not know why they can’t ever have a Sports Illustrated, or NFL magazine even a Super Hero comic book would be nice. But then again, all the hair stylists/barbers in this establishment are female. Most of their customers are female. I do not have a problem with that.
The problem I do have is that I always get the feeling the women are talking about me. They snicker and talk in low tones. They share pictures with each other on their “smart” phones and not with me. I have no idea what they are sharing. Not that I am curious or anything. Occasionally someone will laugh out loud. I smile as though I know what they are talking about, but …
I never see anyone pointing at me, but I notice that there are eyes sometimes looking in my direction. Talk about being paranoid. Of course, I could always go to a “real” barbershop. But, then, I do like my haircuts. And you know us old folks, we don’t like change.
Well, this trip to the hair stylist/barber was a very interesting time. We are in the middle of spring break and the teenage grandson is spending time with the “Rancherette” (AKA, Memaw) and me. He knew in advance that we would be going for our monthly “do” so he would be going with us. Later, he would go shopping with his “Memaw” for school clothes.
I was to go first, as I always do, then she would follow with Kyle riding with her. Here is where things began to get interesting. He asked the “Rancherette” (AKA, Memaw) if he could get a ‘mullet’. Her reply? Not in Memaw’s world. She said she was not going to be responsible for sending him home looking like that. She reminded him that his mother would likely not approve of that, either. So, the “Rancherette” (AKA Memaw), texts the Mom. Her reply? “not no, but **** NO!” (You don’t know, it could mean heck.) No, he cannot have a ‘mullet’! End of story”. Not quite.
He asks, “Memaw, can I borrow your phone?” “What for?” “To call my mom.” “Why?” “To ask her if I can get a ‘mullet’.” The “Rancherette” (AKA Memaw) relents, being the kind and gracious Memaw any kid would be proud to have. He calls his Mom. When he hangs up, he says, “Mom said I could get a ‘mullet’.” Around here, we are accustomed to speaking the truth.
I asked the “Rancherette” if I could get a ‘mullet’. Her reply? Not no, but **** NO! (You don’t know, it could mean heck)
I am always interested in the hairdo the “Rancherette” gets, but me not so much.