Four Tenths Of A Mile

That's all. Just 4/10s of a mile each way to go from my parent's house to Thompson Square. And I am completely wiped out!

I wasn't trying to overbook, and I had a back up plan. I figured I would walk down to the CVS, drop off my prescription to be filled.....and then, have my hair chopped off.

I have HAD IT with this hair. Every morning (& to be honest sometimes afternoon) when I make my bed, I have to take masking tape and wipe the pillow case and sheet clear of all the hair. Every morning. Then I shower and have to dredge of another fistful of hair from the drain. Next I have to masking tape my clothes.

So I decided....today is the day. I am cutting it all off.

I told my mother and she tried to get me to choose a less radical option. That's actually pretty funny since she was always making Grace and I get "pixie" haircuts. Or what our aunt Helen would refer to as "Genevieve" (complete with fake French accent) haircuts. But my mind was made up, I was cutting it all off.

So after lunch - shells, homemade meatballs, italian bread, thanks Dad - I bundle up and head off up Elm. Two plus blocks later I turn onto High and then down Woods. I am in Thompson Square. I drop off the script and head for the Fantastic Sams two doors down. It's gone. LOL! Does this mean I should heed my mother? Should I rethink the haircut?

I got a cup of tea from DD and I sit on a bench in the weak winter sunshine outside the bank. There are other hair salons in Charlestown. I am thinking of the walk back. I can at any point call my Dad...or my uncle....or Chrissie....or T.....or a bunch of people for a ride. I have a safety net. Maybe I will walk to Salon 44....after all I had my hair cut there 30 years ago.

I pulled my cell out of my pocket to see if they are open and see a missed call. It's my company's accountant. He has left a message for me to call back on the business line, so this is not a social call. He puts me on speaker when the receptionist connects me. there are four people asking me questions and they can't hear my answers because I am outside. So I step into the nearby bank vestibule and stand for 25 minutes talking to them, then the office, then NEMED, then the original party again.

Once they are done with me, I go pick up my script and head home. I walk up Woods Street and try not to think of how many times I ran up this minor hill that I can barely walk.

The hell with my hair. Everything on me hurts.