I knew better. Truly. But this sudden impulse, bolstered by my little gizmo, heavily advertised on television, that promised I could cut my own hair without needing help--well, you get the point. I don't think I realized how bad it was until I shampooed and blow-dried. It was then that the half-inch long spot of bang on my forehead revealed itself, and no amount of styling was going to disguise the problem. I thought fleetingly, hysterically, of the wig shop down the street for people who have lost hair due to cancer treatment, but decided that would be selfish. Instead, I threw myself into my car and headed to the nearest cheapie chop shop, where a sweet young woman named Mindy shortened all the hair on my head so that my super-short spot was less noticeable. She didn't laugh at me too much, not to my face. She probably had a good ha-ha going after I left. Needless to say, I did not inform this sweet young savior that I have a doctorate and am a member of Mensa. She probably would have revised her definition of intelligence to omit people with lots of education.
There are indeed many things that one ought not to do for oneself. Cutting your own hair--that's one. I've been known to try other things that I should have left well enough alone. Like the time I tried to paint the kitchen cabinets in the rental house. Still, I've never mixed bleach with ammonia, as one of my students confessed to doing. Most of my oopsies result in personal embarrassment but not near-death experiences.
It just goes to show that no matter how smart someone is (or thinks she is), some activities are better left to professionals. Now, if only someone could convince my super-smart spouse that he really has no business trying to clean out the gutters on a two-story house.... S.
No comments:
Post a Comment