I got a haircut the other day. I’m sure we are all aware of the exercise in horror haircuts usually work out to be for me … but this one wasn’t bad.

The woman was pretty nice, wasn’t a talker, didn’t need to periodically stop to put on her glasses to confirm she was doing what she thought she was doing, didn’t rob me of 20 dollars, didn’t project her sibling disputes on me, didn’t insist I get a new style when I didn’t want one, didn’t have an assistant with a fake French accent standing next to me holding my cup of water should I require it, didn’t try to hit on me, and didn’t sing along to the lesser known hits of Madonna the entire time …

But still I was waiting for it … I mean something was bound to go horribly horribly wrong after all … I hadn’t had a good hair cut experience since I stopped going to Buex Chevox in West Lafayette Indiana.

Surely I thought - although everything seemed to be going to plan - this was going to end up some really bad cut.

But actually … she did a pretty good job.

… Now … she did tell me that the hairspray I was using was all but killing my hair and I had to stop it if I didn’t want it to all die out completely … like … tomorrow …

She was seriously concerned.

But then I had an eye Dr. tell me I was gonna go blind over what turned out to be an extremely mild and common condition, and a dentist tell me I may have oral cancer over what was apparently nothing more than contusion from an aggressive taco chip incident. I think I’ll not worry too much about my hair falling out over night. (I have however switched to a non-hair-spray product).

All in all … it could have been much worse.