I don’t like getting haircuts.

Not really sure why.

I don’t like going to the dentist either; but, that’s pretty obvious. Haircuts? I’m clueless.

Having to get one the other day because I’d stretched the last one several weeks beyond it’s presentable lifespan, I stopped in to see Pat, my barber. I really mean no disrespect by that tag. She says she is the “Senior Stylist;” since there’s not a lot of “styling” going on with my mop, I refer to her as my barber.

She just smiles a smile that says she’d like to hurt me.

So, sitting in her chair, she starts telling me about her weekend plans on Easter.

She does like to talk.

She’s going here and she’s going there, doing this and doing that. Almost as an after thought, she asks me what I’m doing.

“Dropping 30,000 Easter eggs out of a helicopter.”

It really hurt!

She yanked those scissors backwards with several hefty locks of my snowy white hair so fast that I thought she’d jabbed them, point first, into my scalp!

“You’re doing WHAT?” she practically screamed.

You know how women sit under those electronic beehives to dry their hair in a beauty salon? You know how much noise they make? Well, Pat’s screech was so loud that at least 10 women, head in beehive, twisted their head towards us with such ferocity that I feared they’d gotten whiplash.

I have no clue how they heard anything with all that noise. Pat should be proud of her lungs.

So, rubbing my head, I proceeded to tell her about the Lifepoint Easter Egg Drop at Ashley on the Saturday before Easter. She lamented that she would be out of state because she’d definitely come to see that. When she heard that it was a church doing it, she spun my chair around to face her, stared at me for what felt like five minutes and said with confidence, “no way!”

“Way.” was all I could muster.

“That must be some kinda church…”

To which I replied:

“You have no idea!

Why don’t you take one of these pretty orange cards with the eggs coming out of the helicopter so you can find us when you come visit…”