I thought "coup de jour" was quite a good title for a post about my haircut later today. Wrong. It's perfect. The dictionary's third definition says, "Coup: a contusion caused by contact of the brain with the skull at the point of trauma. Compare with contrecoup." Of course, "contrecoup" is not in the dictionary, but I'm pretty sure it means, "No, I don't think I'll get my hair cut today after all."
I remember when mothers and hairdressers conspired to convince us that cutting your hair made it grow faster. That's why they had all the nuts; they had clever, squirrelly logic. It's sad to think that's all it took to get us into the chair. Gawd! Are kids these days as stupid as we were? Probably not. Come to find out, it was a luxury.
Will I or won't I? Should I or shouldn't I? Should. Shouldn't. Will... Won't..... Such a quandry! But for a good (enough) reason; my hair hasn't been cut, 'cept for one ill-advised just-an-inch, in almost 3 years. If I crank my neck back far enough, it goes past my waist. I'm in my second hippiehood.
But it's time to brush my teeth and go. Think I'll play some dirge CD in the car on my way over. The Dead comes to mind. Interesting aside: my hair cutter's name is Gracie. Mary Grace Murphy. Saints preserve us!...