I swear, hair salons are the most dramatic places. There’s always some personal crap spilling over into the washbowls. Today, I go in for color and hear that:

-- my regular girl met a guy in the military over the internet, got married, and moved away since I was last in a couple of months ago;

-- the salon owner is now divorced;

--my new girl, someone I like and know a bit, has also recently become sans boyfriend.

How all this happened is really none of my business, and I don’t prod, but I hear anyway. As I get the slop plopped on my head, I tell my new girl I am sorry to hear about her breakup. She says that she hopes it is all for the best, in a reasoned and pleasant way. She tells me that she and the salon owner are planning a girls’-only trip to Vegas. I can only imagine – they are both extremely good looking women, and will attract a great deal of attention. She says she is hoping for lots of free drinks. I think about this while my hair soaks up the reddish dark brown dye, and I have trouble relating. I cannot ever imagine wanting to do that, and never did do it. Not that I was ever in their league of looks, but that isn’t in my mind. Maybe I am not all that social? Or maybe that is just not my idea of fun. I don’t ever want strange people to buy me drinks, and certainly never want to feel obligated to talk to anyone if they do. I would rather just be on my own, watching and thinking. I’m gonna say it: my own mind is better company than some drunken douchebag with a pile of cash looking for the filet of the day.

But that said, I hope they have a good time, and I bet you they really will.

I wonder, too, what happened to the salon owner’s dog – who got it in the divorce? They didn’t have any kids, so I bet that was a mediation item. He looked like a city rat.

I wonder if anyone cried.

I hear my regular girl now has her hands full Down South somewhere, now the parent of her two-year-old and her new husband’s two-year-old. I also hear she is eager to get back to work. Ha ha. No kidding! I think she is only 23 or so. I hope he doesn’t get sent overseas.

My new girl, the salon owner, the salon owner’s sister, and I plot out the next move on my hair for next month, as they play with my newly-colored lovely shiny hair. We agree that we are all pleased with the color, we are growing out the length a bit, and figuring a new formula for the highlights. I pay, put on my raincoat, and catch a glimpse of myself in a long mirror as I leave the salon. I don’t look like the same person from a year ago, and I do a double-take, and walk out into the rain.