The Pony and I stopped at Terrible Cuts for haircuts on the way home yesterday. In fact, yesterday's post was going to be titled: Haircut, Hair Cut. But I saved this part for today.
Thank the Gummi Mary, I got my favorite Terrible Cutter. I think her name is Doris. She looks like the world's first (self-proclaimed) supermodel, Janice Dickinson. Well. Not like a model, exactly. But kind of rough, with the same features, and kind of the same attitude. But here's the thing. I like her. I really like her. In spite of her blunt comments.
Yes, my Supercutter has no filter. Like when she puts that strip of cotton stuff around my neck before nearly asphyxiating me with the drape thingy, and says, "Wow! You sure have a lot of moles!" Seriously. It's not like they're the size of that lip growth on Maisy's teacher in Uncle Buck. The one John Candy tossed a quarter to as he left her office, telling her to take it downtown and hire a rat to gnaw that thing off her face.
Or like yesterday, when SuperC started combing through my hair, and said, "I look at my color at home, where it's dark, and think I'm fine. But when I go out, I see how bad I need to touch it up." Um. Yeah. I get it. My roots are showing. No need to announce it to the 15 people waiting and watching, listening in on our intimate conversation.
Still, I kind of like that ol' gal. We are kindred spirits. We don't suffer fools. Gladly or ungladly. SuperC got to talking about her heating bill. How she had turned off her heat, and even though it was getting down near freezing last night, she wasn't going to turn it on. She was just going to wrap up. Because heating bills are out of control, you know, and there's a charge on there that everybody gets, and they won't tell you exactly what it is. So one day the girls in the salon called, and they were told it's for people who can't afford their heating bills. "They USED to ask if you wanted to donate a dollar for that! But not anymore. They just TAKE IT! And it's a lot more than a dollar. And the PHONE BILL!"
"I know! I still have a land line--"
"OH! The 9-1-1 charges!"
"I don't even mind that. Because it's local, and there's got to be some way to pay for the 9-1-1 system. But those "taxes" from AT&T are eating me up! If you look at them, they're really about money for free phones for people--"
"I KNOW! If you want a phone, get out and work for it! Or go without a phone!"
"Yeah. I don't know why everybody with a land line has to pay about $30 a month for these freeloaders. They can afford everything else--"
"They're getting their heat paid for!"
"Yeah! Only about half of my phone bill is for my own services. The rest of it's those taxes."
Uh huh. We are not people people, SuperC and I. And sometimes, I feel bad for her. Talking about how food is so expensive now. And even though she loves grapes, those bags in The Devil's Playgound are just too much for one person. So she breaks some of them off, and puts them in another bag, so she can buy less. She was afraid to get caught, but then a Devil's Handmaiden told her they really don't care if you do that.
Yeah, I feel bad for SuperC. I'm worry that she goes home alone and sits in the cold, eating a meager amount of grapes, looking at Facebook. She told me that. She never comments on stuff. She just reads other people's. And she likes some of their videos. "They're so CUTE!"
Too bad it's hard to make new friends when you get old. Friends who might think you have ulterior motives. Friends from a different socioeconomic background.
Sometimes, I wish I could just ask SuperC to join me in a warm restaurant for a grape or two. My treat.