Happiness. It's relative.
The guy who cuts my hair is very young. Forty, maybe fifty years, my junior. When I walked into the salon yesterday, he was sitting, his flowing hair around his shoulder, fanning himself. He had on short shorts, a sleeveless t-shirt and Birkenstocks. The… Continue Reading “Yesterday at the Salon with My Stylist for Life”
When I sat down in the salon chair, I told the young guy who cuts my hair that I needed a haircut that said I was a ‘take charge’ type of person. I told him that my usual haircut with the wispy bangs wouldn’t… Continue Reading “Hair is Us: The Armor of a Great Haircut”
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