After weeks or a month of happiness the
world suddenly comes to an end. You look
in the mirror and realize you can't tame the
beast anymore. That you are long due for
a new doo. And that whatever remaining
vestiges of your last visit to the hair stylist
have exited the premises. Not only a hair
raising experience for a guy like me. But
one many ladies dye for. As in moving to
eradicate any/all roots of all evil. Hence
comes the morning when you realize you
can no longer avoid the inevitable.
others do all the work. Frank's Mom had
her weekly appointment with her "beauty
operator." During said ultimate "me time"
she not only got cut, washed, touched up,
and combed out (up). She also got caught
up on all of the news in town. Leaving the
shop a new woman, all she had to do was
maintain said work of artifice for one week.
A mode of maintenance that guaranteed
she always looked her best. Sadly while
next generations rejected "helmet head"
coifs they now must do it themselves.
While many suggest that times past were
harder - I'm not so sure. Our Mother's had
lots of help. Like the domestic staff who
insured their homes ran smoothly. Or the
grocer who delivered whatever was needed
post a phone call. Meanwhile the milk and
bread men delivered to their door on a daily
basis. In many cases somebody else did the
laundry and ironing. And rather than fuss
with fresh food, they simply opened a can
or popped a prepared casserole in the oven.
Somehow they found a way to make life
easier. So why can't we do just that?!