Her name was Jaime

I got a haircut a couple of weeks ago, and wasn’t real thrilled with it. Lloyd rolls his eyes when I complain about my hair because I don’t ”Build a Relationship” with ”Someone Who Knows What They’re Doing”. Nope. I’m a big fan of the walk-in method of hair shortening.

Today I had a goal to get to Lincoln and get a different haircut. Lloyd and Brad went along for moral support, but first we spent a little time doing some internet searching. Brad searched for ‘hairstyles for women of a certain age’. Grrrrr….. He came up with Martha Stewart’s ‘do.

I made a page of internet photos to show what I liked and didn’t care for. (Note to self: That was a good idea.) I only had the vague idea that I wanted it shorter than my shoulders, and I’d like to try the layer-y thing.

Jaime did a fine job. She was very thorough, and it took a long, long time. I was done talking a third of the way in, but kept being polite and social so she wouldn’t get mad and give me a mohawk for my impolitenesss.

It’s alright, but will take some getting used to. As always, though, it matters very little to me, because I almost never see my head.