Today I saw Pat, my hairdresser extraordinaire.
My heart was heavy as I walked into her shop. People I cared for had disappointed me. It's life, it happens to all of us, but it still hurts. I came ready to spill my guts and watch her transform me into a new woman all for one reasonable price.
I’ve found that all hairdressers are psychologists as well as artists and like many others I lean on Pat for wisdom whilst being awed by her skill. I sank into the chair and told Pat my woes.
I’ve sat in Pat’s chair for almost a year and have never heard her complain. My mother would say Pat has one mouth and two ears unlike most of her clients, me included, who have one ear and two mouths. As soon as I donned the 'Cape-that-ensures-what's-said-at-the-hairdresser-stays-at-the-hairdresser' I was off and running my two mouths.
When at last I was done, Pat quietly shared with me that she had colon cancer not long ago. She told me about her miserable childhood; how she'd married a man and soon after their wedding he became ill. She nursed him through their marriage and worked as the breadwinner, bringing up four accomplished kids until he passed away.
She should be retired, touring the world, but she stands behind me cutting hair to make ends meet. While I am grateful Pat's still in the business for my own selfish reasons, I am even more grateful to her for putting my petty problems into perspective.
The moral of this story is my troubles are the Pimple on the Ass of an Elephant compared to some.
P.S. I am sporting a marvelous haircut!
P.P.S. I pronounce “ass” like “arse” – this is a South Africanism you can take to your twerking instructor/proctologist /loo (aka WC/toilet/ladies room)!