The puppy under the towel

[scarlettina]

Last night, I dreamed that I was getting my hair cut and colored in preparation for my brother's wedding. My appointment was at the hair salon my mother used to take me to when I was a child. The hair dresser was a large blond woman who cut my hair, colored it, and combed it out. The cut looked like Cher's hair circa 1968. But she hadn't washed out the dye. When I insisted she do it, she refused. The radio in the salon then got very loud, and no matter what I said to her, I couldn't hear her response. My impression was that she was telling me her business-grounded reasons for not completed my service which, to her mind, were completely reasonable. I argued that washing the dye out of my hair was completely reasonable, that I'd been their patron for 20+ years, and to wash the damn dye out. No luck.

I went to a sink to wash the dye out myself and couldn't find a clean towel. When I did find a towel, there was a squirmy puppy underneath it--wasn't going to use that. I'd end up smelling like puppy. Then I noticed another, clean, folded towel just beyond the puppy, grabbed that, and started to rinse my hair.

So, the lesson is . . . the best way to get something done is to do it yourself? In what world is this news? Maybe the lesson is . . . sometimes you have to look past the puppy.