It was time for a haircut, so I visited a hair cutting place. I frequent the cheap places where you never see the same person more than once. I think they are fronts for the witness protection program, but that isn’t why I go. They used to be cheaper (lately I’m thinking of buying shears and counting my pennies) and they are fast. I’d prefer a barber shop, just the old fashioned place with straight razors and Hai Karate, but straight razors and Hai Karate can unsettle.

So I’m at the hair cutting place, this one uses the word “Masters” in their title, so it can’t be all that bad, right? My last trim came from this same place. Of course that lady was not there today. Just as well, as it grew out I noticed one section that I didn’t care for. (And I don’t mean the silver.)

I walk in and they ask me if I’m there for a haircut. No, but if you could prepare a new financial investment portfolio I’d be most appreciative. They ask if I have a preference for who cuts my hair. No, because none of you have been here for more than 15 days and none of you will be here in three weeks.

The three women working at the booths on the left, all cutting hair, point as one to the young woman standing at the booth on the right. She’s fresh out of school. But she’s nice and diligent. And she cut my hair three times because, after all, short is a relative term.

And it is still a bit longer than I was going for, but it works, and I’m glad for that.

Car, washed. Tires, shined. Sidewalk, swept. It was a productive evening.

Brian made it in. He’s spending the weekend for football fun. We went out for Niffer’s tonight, because he likes corn nuggets. (But who doesn’t? Good question.)

We worked on the demonic dishwasher. At one point sparks flew. Actual sparks were sitting on the floor. I found this manically funny, not realizing that Brian managed to give himself a bit of a shock in creating the pyrotechnic show. If you’re keeping count, that’s two people that have shocked themselves in the short time The Yankee and I have lived here. We are not electricians.

And then we saw something that we have never before seen, a melted wire nut. Those big plastic screw caps are insulated, but we somehow managed to melt one through. Whatever the dishwasher’s problems, this did not help. Brian, like all non-electricians, wisely concluded his examination at the point of electric shock.

We took him to see Nova. It was the least you can do for a friend to whom you’re introducing a strong electrical current.