In Which We Talk of Haircuts

Lovely weather we've been having - decidedly not very North Carolina June. There's your snippet of what my cousin and I call Old People Weather Talk - OPWT for short.

Saturday we went out on Jordan Lake for an evening cruise and jackets were needed. It was great.

 Earlier in the day we saw "Snow White and the Huntsman" and except for Charlize Theron's costumes, it was not great.

But I didn't come here to talk about that.

Sunday after a mini Chapel Hill pottery tour excursion with "Myrtle's" daughter "M", we went over to CB; it was the first time I'd been this year. Ms. Myrtle was sitting outside in the courtyard, dressed in a white cable-knit sweater, khaki pants, and white sneakers with black socks. The black socks did not go over well with M, as she had brought over twelve pair of white socks recently. 

The haircut Ms. Myrtle was sporting went over even less well than the socks. Using the word haircut is being extremely generous - this was a hair chop. The part of her hair that used to be bangs (fringe as the Brits say), was sticking straight up in the air, making her look a bit like a ninety year old Mary in "There's Something About Mary". And while this look was funny in the movie, it is not funny on a defenseless elderly person.

Ms. Myrtle was not the only current casualty, another woman said her husband's hair had been butchered. M said several other people's hair looked bad as well. I had to intervene several times with this hairdresser on behalf of Mom's hair.

What gives with this woman!? These folks have so little left, they should be treated with dignity and respect, especially when it comes to things they can no longer do for themselves. They all either look like little children (with bad haircuts) or with the same exact style.

Honestly, I have so many emotions about this, I don't even know how to express them. It pisses me off.


Poor M was so upset she went inside for a bit to recoup. I continued to talk to "Jean" who had recognized me through the window and came out to sit for a bit. There was a story about her father, her husband, and her daughter. We held hands. It was nice. Then it got too hot for her and she went inside, and I chatted with Ms. Myrtle.

"Where is everyone?" she asked, "Is this a story?"
Everyone was beautiful, including the brick building. The man who built it was old or handsome; she wondered which it was.
I offered that perhaps he could be both.
She did not seem to think that likely.
Neither did I.
Not with that haircut.