Sorry this blog has been so neglected this month. Every day I'm busy -- working like crazy, going to parties, seeing movies, shopping for holiday gifts, trying to keep the household from falling apart -- but little of it seems to be worth writing about. This morning I was so desperate for material that when I found out Curtis was going to wait outside a local Target in hopes of snagging a Wii, I asked him to take a camera to capture photos of the melee and to consider writing a guest post about his hairy experience. He agreed, only to return with Wii in hand, no pictures, and the pleasant but unexciting news that there was no mob and the Target team members seemed well-prepared and organized.
I don't even have any customer horror stories to share. There's still a week until Christmas, so the customer from hell may yet surface, but as of now practically everyone I've dealt with has been a sweetheart. The most annoying customer I've encountered was a fellow who called this morning to order some Joel Osteen books, and I simply could not wrap up the conversation. He sounded like an old coot, but he cheerfully volunteered the information that he's but 10 years older than I; if this is what the next decade of life has in store for me, kill me now, please. He went on and on about his nine grandchildren and his wife of 23 years and, most painfully and drawn out, his philosophy of life, which seemed positive and life-affirming, but I don't need it at ten in the morning with a line of customers waiting, you know? After I'd gotten his charge and shipping information and could see the end in sight -- I'm generally good at closing the sale -- he asked if he could tell me a Christian joke. I said okay, figuring, what's another ten seconds of life I'll never get back? He proceeded to tell me a loooong and unfunny joke involving Jesus, Moses, and golf. I saw the punchline a mile off and had a hard time mustering a chuckle when he finally reached it. By now the line of customers had disappeared, all helped by co-workers who happened by, so I lied to the fellow when I said I had other folks to help and was finally able to hang up. I should count myself lucky if this is the worst I have to deal with all holiday season, but at least a tyrant or a hysteric could make for fun reading.
Yesterday I got a haircut. I always make appointments for Norman and myself to get haircuts at the same time, and somehow Curtis C., our hairdresser, has gotten it into his head that we are married. At some point last year I told him, "We're just friends," but he either didn't hear me or didn't believe me. For months now we have squirmed whenever he says anything marriage-related and carefully phrased our answers so that we're not exactly lying to him, though we can't figure out how to 'fess up; the moment to correct the situation appears to have come and gone and is now receding rapidly into the past, and it would be pretty awkward to try to straighten him out now. I've decided to stop worrying about it and just go along because Curtis C. gives us what seems to be a family discount on our haircuts, and neither of us wants to spend any more money on hair care than we have to, as we can both be cheap bastards; it's kind of like that Seinfeld episode in which Courtney Cox pretends to be Jerry's wife so she can get a discount on her drycleaning. I guess we'll continue the charade until one of us slips up and Curtis C. realizes he's been had.
I had a lot of hair chopped off and it looked fine yesterday. Today I took a curling iron to it and ended up looking like June Allyson, which is not my ideal celebrity comparison.