There was a ride to Worcester today that featured 100% cloud cover and pockets of rain of varied intensities. The destination was the hair salon for my 16-week appointment. Since letting my hair run free and natural with whatever color it chooses to grow, appointments have gone from around every six weeks to 16 or more.
The highways and city streets featured the usual cast of drivers
performing the usual antics. There was the weaving in and out of traffic, waiting until the last possible
second to race across two or three lanes to take an exit, and changing lanes in
the middle of an intersection, as if they are accidents looking for a place to happen.
After the salon appointment with the shampoo and amazing scalp massage from the stylist with magic hands who could probably get any foreign operatives to spill all their spy secrets, there was the tiniest of trims because my hair and I have been getting along great lately and I didn't want to screw that up.
After, there was a trip to Habitat ReStore, which, unfortunately, was closed for the weekend. Not far down the same street is
Savers, which was filled with shoppers and no available carts. Signs throughout
the store declared that orange tags were 50% off, and after browsing the
equivalent of 15 miles of racks of sweaters, blouses, and long-sleeve knit
shirts, I had not found one single orange tag. Nada. Zip. The same situation was
true in housewares.
I wandered the store for an hour or so in search of soup bowls and looking at sweaters, and had a conversation with a lady who stopped to ask me about my hair which morphed into a chat about a sweater she was considering buying, and a quick chat with a guy who asked “Is it my imagination or do I see you in here all the time?” Spoiler – unless “all the time” is every 16 weeks, then it’s his imagination.
The day's acquisitions. |
A cure to the sweater hoarding might be to stop looking at
sweaters in thrift stores, or maybe stop going to thrift stores at all, but
that would mean fewer reasons to leave the house, and I’m not looking to stop going to thrift stores. If
I pay $5 for a sweater, wear it twice, and donate it somewhere, I’m okay with
that. And there are days when the tiny random conversations with strangers in
thrift stores are my only contact with another living being.
No comments:
Post a Comment