I had something really elaborate and insightful that I wanted to share with you tonight. It was the sort of post that would’ve garnered comments from even the most recalcitrant lurkers, and you all would’ve been deeply moved by my insight. The flash of brilliance astounded even me.

Aaaaaaand… then I decided to post this, instead.

I don’t ask for much. (Stop laughing.) I think I’m generally kind and polite to the servicepeople I depend upon. I appreciate the services they provide and I’m an excellent tipper. Mostly I believe in sucking up to those who do important things for you which you cannot (for whatever reason) accomplish without them. It’s a give and take kind of thing. Once I patronize a provider for a while, I figure we have a relationship that runs a little deeper, you know?

Which is why I am so bewildered about what happened this afternoon.

I am in DIRE need of a hair appointment. It’s been too long since I had it straightened, which means that no matter how much goop I put in it and how carefully I blow dry it, there are weird mutant fuzzy pieces all along my hairline that make me look just a little bit like I’m wearing a WIG. Which is a fabulous look if you happen to be a transvestite or something, but since I’m not, it’s not really my favorite.

And although it felt like winter today, one assumes that spring/summer will be arriving eventually, and I haven’t had my hair cut in, I dunno, FOREVER maybe, and who wants to have five tons of mophead wig-looking hair once it gets warm out? Not me.

So I went through a lot to finally secure an appointment for next week.

Today the receptionist called me up to say that my stylist is pregnant and the smell of the straightener makes her vomit. Hence she was cancelling my appointment, and did I want to schedule with someone else?

I don’t want to schedule with someone else. But I did, because I am desperate. Although now, of course, I have to wait even longer… so that I can have my hair done by some random person who is most certainly NOT the woman whom I allow to regularly torment me about the time she took me to the city to be her hair model at a master class and they forgot to feed us lunch and I got really cranky because I was hungry and so she snuck some pretzels from the next station and told me to shut up and eat them.

Does it make me shallow that my first thought was “well dammit, there’s an entire bank of sinks right there, she could just go puke and come back and finish me up…”? I mean, come on. I went a whole day without any food except a couple of pretzels, for her. Sheesh.